All That Remains
by SkyleafAlchemist19
Summary: Five year-old Legolas is captured by orcs and taken to Dol Guldur, where he is given to an assassin to be trained. The Nazgûl underestimated their assassin's new-found hatred of the Enemy however. Their plan backfires when a deadly but good Legolas escapes, hiding from the kin who think him dead and killing orcs from the shadows...
1. Prologue: Taken

**Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings.**

**LOTRLOTRLOTR**

**All That Remains**

**by: SkyleafAlchemist19**

**Rated: T for violence and some curse words.**

**Summary: Five year-old Legolas is captured by orcs and taken to Dol Guldur, where he is given to an assassin to be trained. The Nazgûl underestimated their assassin's new-found hatred of the Enemy however. Their plan backfires when a deadly but good Legolas escapes, hiding from the kin who think him dead and killing orcs from the shadows...**

**Time-line: Pre-LOTR onward, AU. Eventually becomes extremely AU.**

**Main Characters: Legolas, Thranduil, Elrond, Elladan, Elrohir, Glorfindel, Erestor, others.**

**Eventual Main Characters: Aragorn. (You'll just have to wait and see about the others. Hint: Dwarves, Hobbits, and some Men) :)**

**Warnings: AU. Some changes in Middle-earth history. Large time skips leading up to the main plot.**

**Relationships: Gen, some OC/OC. I have no pairings planned at the moment.**

**Translations:**

**Ada: Daddy/Dad**

**Nana: Mommy/Mom**

**_Original Character Guide__:_ _Royal Family of Mirkwood_**

**_Luineth_: Queen of Mirkwood, Thranduil's wife, Legolas's mother**

**_Aglar_: Thranduil and Luineth's oldest son, Crown Prince of Mirkwood**

**_Hannel_: Thranduil and Luineth's oldest daughter, second child**

**_Megilag_: Second son, third child**

**_Barhad_: Third son, older twin, fourth child**

**_Bereneth_: Second daughter, younger twin, fifth child**

**_Fael_: Fourth son, sixth child***

***Note: Legolas is 2,100 years younger than Fael**

**LOTRLOTRLOTR**

**Prologue: Taken**

_Third Age 2531. (480 years ago...)_

The forest was silent. Not a whisper of wind rustled the boughs of the sturdy branches above. Not a single insect buzzed or drifted between the bright flowers that grew at the bases of the trees. No birds sang sweet notes to the sky, filling the void with their song. No animals called to each other or rustled through the undergrowth. It was as if all of nature was unwilling to break the heavy silence that lay heavily on the forest. And so the darkening woods were silent.

Then, there was a scream.

The scream ripped through the silent air like a sharp knife cutting through flesh, savagely breaking the heavy silence. The terrible wail was worse than the sound of a dying animal, filled with uncomprehending pain and grief. The heartbreaking animal-like screams changed slowly, transforming into desperate words.

"Luineth! Luineth!" a voice sobbed. "Luineth, my love, please wake!"

In the middle of the forest was a battlefield. Elven and orc bodies were strewn across the path, with the slain corpses of horses mingling with those of their masters. Discarded swords and arrows peppered the ground and surrounding trees, left where they had fallen. A small group of five elves were huddled silently in the center of the massacre, standing in a circle around two fallen shapes. One was holding the other in a tight embrace, sobbing as he rocked her back and forth. The other, the one being held, was unmoving.

Thranduil, King of Mirkwood, sat beneath the silent trees, sobbing into the blood-covered silver hair of his wife. A bloody dagger was clutched in her right hand, the black blood on the blade contrasting sharply with the wound on her chest. Silver-blue eyes stared sightlessly at the sky, filled with pain and fear even in death. Luineth, Queen of Mirkwood, was dead.

Just that morning, Luineth had decided to take a ride out in the forest, Thranduil and their youngest at her side. Before the party could depart however, one of the King's advisers had intercepted him with an urgent letter that required his immediate attention. While Thranduil had been trying to gracefully excuse himself from the adviser's presence, Luineth had gone ahead, riding out with some guards into the forest. Thranduil had been able to escape the adviser five minutes later. And five minutes made all the difference. A simple ride outside the palace had turned into a fatal trap as the Queen and her guards were attacked by orcs out in the forest. Thranduil's party had arrived in time to see Luineth fall to an orc's blade. When Thranduil reached his wife, ignoring the orc who fled the moment he saw the King, she was already dead.

The King's Guards did not move or speak as their Lord whispered and pleaded with his wife to _wake up, _to_ come back to him_. They could see him shattering, weakening before their very eyes. They dared not interrupt, their own hearts breaking at the sight of their beloved Queen. They could not even find the will to bury or check their deceased comrades, overcome by the grief of their King. So they merely stood in a protective circle around him, faces blank and minds numb. If another group of orcs happened upon the elves, they would have found little fight in them.

The King's begging trailed into nothingness, replaced by wordless whimpers and sobs. Thranduil clung to his dead wife like one clinging to a lifeline, cheek resting on her bloody hair. He could feel her body cooling in his arms, the warmth fleeing with the life that had resided within it.

Finally, after almost a half hour of silence and numbness, Thranduil looked up. The King's blue eyes were wild, terror and grief warring for dominance within him. His pale lips moved in slow movements, the cause of his desperate break from mindless grief coming out in the form of a name.

"Legolas." At the sound of the name, the warriors shifted, looking at their King. "Where's my son?" Thranduil croaked, looking around the bloody clearing. "Where is Legolas? WHERE IS HE?"

One by one, expressions of horror replacing the blank masks as they realized the reason for their King's distress. Legolas, the five year-old Prince and Thranduil's youngest child, had gone out riding with the Queen and her guards that fateful morning. And he was nowhere to be found. There was no small body among the slain elven warriors and hulking masses of dead orcs. Which only left one possibility. Thranduil snapped into action, the thoughts of his young son clearing his mind. For the moment anyway.

"Thimben, Aduial! Return to the castle and get our best trackers. You must follow the orcs' trail!"

The two named warriors hesitated, unwilling to leave their King with so little protection.

"Go!" Thranduil ordered and the warriors rode away at top speed. The King turned back to his wife, breathing harsh, and spoke to her softly, gently brushing her hair out of her face. "We'll find him. We'll find him, my love. They won't have him."

LOTRLOTRLOTR

Many leagues away, near the edge of the Mirkwood forest, a horde of orcs ran swiftly through the forest, footsteps sounding like thunder in a storm. Around them, the trees grew steadily darker as they grew closer to their destination: Dol Guldur. The band of orcs moved at a steady, rhythmic pace, looking like an army of demons with their black skin and cruel yellow eyes. In the sea of black a tiny spot of pale gold and white could be seen.

Legolas, the youngest Prince of Mirkwood, was afraid. He had been out riding with his mother when the band of scary monsters had attacked their guards, killing three of them before the other elves could react. Legolas did not know how the orcs had sneaked up on the guards. His second big brother, Megilag, always said that the trees would warn the Wood Elves if any enemies were nearby. Yet the guards had been taken completely by surprise. Legolas remembered his mother covering his eyes as screams ripped through the air around them.

"Run, my Queen!" one of the guards had shouted before being cut down.

And so Luineth had spurred their horse, only to have the white stallion shot down by a black arrow. Legolas and the Queen had been thrown free of the falling horse, Luineth rising to her feet immediately in defense as the orcs— so many orcs— charged them. The orcs had quickly overwhelmed her— she was no warrior—, pushing easily past the Queen's defense and grabbing Legolas. The Prince had screamed for his mother as rough hands pulled him out of safety, whisking him away from the battle faster than he could blink. Rushed away by the eager orcs, he did not see his mother fall.

Legolas had screamed for hours, beating the orc's shoulder with tiny fists and getting nothing but a harsh shake for his efforts. If Legolas was older he would have wondered why the orcs did not threaten him for making noise. Instead, they merely focused on running, caring more about putting distance between them and the elves than the quietness of their captive. Eventually the Prince quieted, going limp over his captor's shoulder as the hours passed.

Legolas did not know what to do. His older brothers and Bereneth had told him stories about their encounters with orcs, stories that scared Legolas and made Nana scold them. orcs were evil, mean creatures, Legolas knew, ones who liked to kill and hurt elves. The young Prince was afraid of what the orcs wanted with him, especially since his family would always look scared and sad whenever he asked what happened to elves that orcs captured. He just knew that they never came back.

_Ada will come after me when Nana tells him what happened._ Legolas thought. _So will Aglar and Hannel and Megilag and Barhad and Bereneth and Fael. They'll rescue me._

Yet as the hours went on and no help came, the young elfling grew worried. The trees around him were steadily growing darker, their angry murmurs reaching his young ears and making him shiver. The trees did not like him. He did not know why they hissed and spat at him but they did, cringing away from his inner light. Nervous among their anger, Legolas tried to shrink in on himself, which was impossible while hanging over an orc's shoulder.

"Stop squirming, tree-rat!" the orc carrying him snarled, making the Prince freeze instantly.

He managed to stay perfectly still for a couple minutes, but remaining like that quickly grew difficult. Legolas wiggled in an attempt to get more comfortable.

"I said keep still!" the orc snapped, giving the elfling a harsh shake.

Legolas gave a surprised yelp as his chin slammed into the orc's armor. Instantly, the orc's arm was grabbed by another, a threatening growl emerging from his throat.

"Careful with that. The Witch-King wants him unharmed." the second orc growled, cuffing the first with an armored fist.

The orc carrying Legolas hissed in pain, giving the other a hate-filled glare. "The little twit was trying to break free! I was just discouraging him."

The second orc looked unconvinced. "Of course you were." he sneered. "I didn't know you were so incompetent that you can't keep hold of a tiny tree-rat!"

The offended orc gave an enraged snarl and lunged for the second, fist connecting with the other's chin. Legolas gave a shriek as the second orc retaliated, bowling his carrier over and sending all three of them to the ground. The Elf Prince was thrown free of the tussling orcs, cringing as the others continued to march around him and a large, booted foot barely missed his head. Before he could be trampled, the other orcs halted, focusing on the fight. Shouts of encouragement for the two brawlers rippled through the ranks, until the entire group was calling bets on the winner.

Legolas quickly realized that no attention was on him. Careful to keep low to the ground and not touch anyone he passed, the small Prince scurried through the legs of the surrounding orcs. None noticed him as he hurried through their ranks as fast as he dared. As shouts, grunts, and screams came from the two fighters, the orcs grew even more frenzied, crazed by blood-lust. Legolas whimpered and gasped as spear-butts slammed down in front of him and large feet stomped in an erratic rhythm. Miraculously, he made it to the edge of the mass, taking a single step out of the circle of orcs braying for blood. A large hand grabbed his hair, forcing a scream of pain from the elfling.

"Where do you think you're going?" the orc who held him growled. He turned angry yellow eyes on the crowd of spectators and bellowed. "At attention you stinking half-wits!"

The orcs flinched or jumped, attention swiftly diverted, and scurried back into formation, purposely forming up around the Prince and his captor. Form Legolas's height, it seemed like the giant orcs were blocking out the sun with their dark skin and armor. The Prince's heart sank as his chance at freedom was literally blocked off. The orc that held him strode forward with long strides, ignoring the elfling's pained gasps as he struggled to keep pace so that his hair would not be pulled. The orc released him, turning his attention to the two brawling orcs that stood rigidly at attention. Without a word of warning the orc— the Captain of the horde— punched them both in the gut. Both orcs bent over double, wheezing and gasping for breath.

"Bloody idiots!" the orc Captain snarled. "Your little scuffle almost let the tree-rat get away!"

"But he was—" the orc who had been carrying Legolas began.

The Captain slapped his subordinate across the face, two of the lackey's yellowed teeth ripping free of his gums. The orc spat the teeth on the ground but did not speak again.

"Let's get moving!" the orc Captain shouted, planning to punish the two more thoroughly later. "The adult tree-rats will be here soon."

He turned to Legolas but the elfling stepped back, wondering if he could stall for time. Just long enough for his father or the warriors to get there. The little Prince did not know that the orc Captain had left several false trails behind him, good enough to confuse any trackers of Mirkwood. By the time the warriors fought off the spiders they would encounter and circled back to find the real trail, the orcs would be long gone.

"My Nana will tell my Ada you took me and he'll come rescue me." Legolas said bravely, unaware that no help would be coming any time soon.

Around him, the orcs laughed. Legolas looked at them all in confusion. The large orc leaned down in front of him, making the elfling recoil from his horrid breath.

"Your mother's dead, tree-rat." the orc captain sneered.

Legolas's mouth snapped shut and he stared at the orc mutely. Although he did not fully understand death, he knew what it was. When he was the human equivalent of a three year-old, the young Prince had owned a pet rabbit named Floppy. One day, the curious bunny had escaped the palace into the stables, and got trampled by a startled horse. Legolas had found the animal and gone running into the palace, bursting into tears as he begged the first person he met— Hannel— to make Floppy better. Hannel had gently taken the dead rabbit from her brother and cradled in her arms, quietly explaining that Floppy had been badly injured, so injured that his spirit had moved on to eternal rest. That was the first time the Prince had heard of death.

Legolas did not fully understand what "death" meant, but he did know that the person person who had died was not coming back. In other words, the orc had taken his mother away. The elfling stared unblinkingly at the orc with eyes that seemed to age rapidly, holding the cold anger of a much older and more vengeful elf. The orc froze as the silver-blue eyes pierced him, pinning him in place with an ancient power.

"I will kill you for hurting my Nana." the Prince vowed quietly, in a voice that matched his too-old eyes.

The orc captain flinched and retreated to the front of the group, eager to get away from those terrifying eyes. Even as he was picked up and thrown over a shoulder once more, Legolas's gaze followed the orc, marking him in his mind. He would remember this conversation. He would remember the orc. And one day, the orc would pay for taking away his mother. The orc would pay with his life.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

Thranduil sat in his throne room, shoulders hunched and head down with his golden hair falling into his face. His crown was crooked on his head and his skin was pale, eyes red-rimmed from tears and stress. The two guards standing on the inside of the doors shifted uncomfortably, never before having seen their King look so defeated. Thranduil did not bother trying to pretend to be strong and unmoved by his losses. Luineth's death and Legolas's current missing status had taken it's toll on the King. He was more vulnerable now than he had ever been, as if a breath of wind would make him shatter. Thranduil, who was always the image of confidence and strength, was a mere shadow of his former self, lost deep in his thoughts.

His grief for his wife was a stain upon his soul, but his fear for his lost son was what overwhelmed the King, taking away his breath and will. Thranduil wanted nothing more than to be with the patrol— led by his eldest son, Aglar— that was searching for Legolas, but knew he would only hinder the search rather than help. He could feel the numbness of grief creeping up on him but refused to fall into it. He had to remain alert. He had to know his youngest son was all right before he crumbled.

The rest of his family was nowhere to be found. Thranduil was not sure whether he should be grateful or upset. Aglar was with the patrol searching for his youngest sibling. His two daughters and third son— the even-tempered Hannel, fiery Bereneth, and her calm twin Barhad— were all in Lothlorien. The twins were there visiting Hannel and her husband, as they did every year since the eldest sister had decided to live in her husband's realm. The rest of Thranduil's children— stern Megilag and mischievous Fael— were in Rivendell visiting Elrond's sons.

Normally Thranduil's thoughts would be filled with laughter as he imagined what pranks Fael and the devious twins would play on poor Glorfindel and Erestor, but now all his thoughts were dark with fear and grief. How would his children react when the messengers arrived with the news of their mother's death? Thranduil had not the heart to tell them of Legolas's capture.

_By the time they arrive in Mirkwood, little Greenleaf will be home,_ the father thought determinedly, forcing himself to believe his thoughts. He had to believe his youngest would be returned home, safe and sound. He _had_ to.

Legolas had been an unexpected surprise for the Royal Family of Mirkwood. It had been over two thousand years since the birth of their sixth child, Fael. Both Thranduil and Luineth were overjoyed when they discovered they would be adding one more member to the family. The Palace had gotten quieter since their first six children had grown into adults, all heading out into the world. They all still lived in the palace of course, but the noticeable absence of an elfling's laughter had saddened the parents' hearts.

The youngest Prince's birth had not been an easy one. Luineth had gone into labor more than a month early, and the healer's had feared the baby would not survive. But he had, and ten hours later Thranduil found himself holding a tiny elfling with a tuft of blonde fuzz on his head. It was a blonde so pale it looked almost silver or white, a unique color not only among the Royal family but among all Silvan Elves as well. The rest of Legolas's siblings had gotten their parent's hair, be it Thranduil's gold or Luineth's silver locks.

Legolas had looked so delicate and frail in his large hands. For the first time since the birth of Aglar, the Elvenking had felt that he was going to drop or break the tiny baby that relied so much on him. But then the babe's eyes had fluttered open exposing Thranduil to orbs of innocent silver-blue. Legolas was the only child to inherit his mother's unique silver-blue eyes. Looking back, Thranduil remembered the comfort he had felt when he gazed into the curious eyes of his youngest child.

"You are destined for great things, little one." he remembered saying. "My little Greenleaf."

And so the King and Queen had named him Legolas, after the green leaves that flourished out in the spring. But now the green leaves of spring had been captured by the darkest of shadows. Thranduil shuddered once, shivering the sudden cold that came from within his heart.

The creak of a moving hinge was like a cannon blast in the silence. The King's head snapped up and he rose to his feet, hope entering his gaze as his eldest son entered the room. Aglar closed the door firmly behind him before turning to face his father. Thranduil's sharp eyes instantly spotted the bloody strip of cloth on his son's forearm.

"What happened?" he asked his eldest, urgently striding forward to inspect the wound.

Aglar did not resist as his father as the King took his arm, gently touching the area next to the small gash. "Spider attack. The orcs left a false trail into a Spider nest. No one was killed, but Heled was poisoned. The healers gave him the antidote though so he'll be all right." The Crown Prince avoided his father's intense blue eyes, unable to look him in the face and give him the news. "We circled back and tracked the orcs as far South as we dared, but the trail led into the Shadowed part of Mirkwood. The trees attacked Glamor and blocked the way so... we had to turn back. But the path we were following... I... I believe they have taken Legolas to Dol Guldur." Aglar choked on the words he uttered, feeling as if he were giving his little brother a death sentence. The fortress of Dol Guldur was currently housing the Nazgûl, including the dreaded Witch-King. If Legolas had indeed been taken to the dreaded fortress, it practically _was_ a death sentence. Few elves went into Dol Guldur. None came out.

The King's face crumpled and he turned away from his son, tears breaking free as he brought a shaking hand to cover his eyes. "What do they want with him?" Thranduil whispered, anguished. "Will they torture him until he becomes one of them? Will they kill him? Why? Why did they take my son?! Valar have mercy, he's just a child! My _youngest child_..."

Aglar strode forward, hugging his father as his own grief and self-disappointment broke his emotionless mask. Thranduil's knees buckled and he sank to the ground, his son falling with him to their knees. The guards shut their eyes as their King and his Heir cried, their grief making the stone walls of the palace seem even colder.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

Ciaran, Man of the North watched expressionlessly with cold hazel eyes as the band of orcs marched into Dol Guldur. While many men would have left the room or shied away at the sight of the monsters, the Dunedain did not move from the spot in which he stood, glaring at the orcs as they halted in front of him. Beside him stood a tall, black-cloaked figure which emitted a feeling of malice that could send ice into the hearts of the bravest souls. Ciaran was unaffected by the Witch-King's evil aura, ignoring like a person who was not an animal-lover ignored their friend's dog. He was not afraid of the Witch-King. Ciaran was not afraid of anything. Not anymore.

Apathy and anger were the emotions most commonly found in the man, nothing else. This was an excellent mindset for a man of his profession. It would not do for an assassin to falter after all. The man was a unique one among the inhabitants of Dol Guldur, both because of his profession and his mix of powerlessness and power. He was a prisoner yet he was not, only remaining in the Hill of Sorcery because he felt like it at the current time.

Ciaran was a wild card, not allied with the Enemy of the Free People but not aligning himself with the Free People either. He drifted, on neither side and both, depending on which side required his skills that week. Ciaran had no qualms about working for a party one day and killing them the next. He used to have morals and guidelines to his shadowy profession... but not anymore. He was no longer the man he had been before The Incident.

Needless to say, Ciaran had been perfectly capable of defeating the orcs that the Nazgûl had sent to retrieve him, he just had not felt like it. Ciaran had been an assassin without a mission, wandering from place to place and finding no work or content anywhere. He was a neutral party, had been ever since The Incident. The Incident that had hardened his heart more than any training could. Some who knew of him called him the Beserker, a man who could kill hundreds in mere seconds. Others named him the Eternal Avenger, the man who would never find peace until he died. In the dark parts of the world he was known as the Touch of Death, the assassin who could kill a man just by brushing past him and leave no trace. Ciaran was a dangerous man indeed. Without loyalty, without love, and without morals...

...or at least, that was who he was right now.

The assassin shifted slightly on his feet, watching the orcs walk by, a speck of light among the black shapes catching his eye. A single brown eyebrow rose as Ciaran spotted the source of the light. How had the orcs captured an elfling?

The orc Captain strutted forward, arrogant and proud, before bowing to the Witch-King. "My Lord, we brought what you asked for. An elfling, alive and unspoiled."

Another orc stepped forward, dropping the elfling at the Witch-King's feet. The pale-haired boy flinched as he stared up at the menacing Ringwraith. Then his chin jerked up, and he stared defiantly at the Nazgûl with determined silver-blue eyes.

"What is your name?" the Witch-King asked in his deep dark voice.

The child remained silent. His orc kidnappers answered for him. "He is Legolas Thranduilion, the youngest Prince of Mirkwood." the orc Captain said.

"A Prince of Mirkwood?" the Witch-King murmured. "Excellent." Ciaran had a feeling that if he could see the face beneath the hood, the Ringwraith would be smiling. "Ciaran of the North." the Nazgûl King said suddenly, making everyone except the assassin and the elfling jump. "Do you know why you're here?"

Ciaran stared into the black abyss beneath the Ringwraith's hood, unaffected by the fire-like eyes that glowed like a demon's from within the shadow, and shrugged carelessly. The Witch-King glided forward, walking slowly around Legolas like a wolf stalking a rabbit.

"This is why you are here, assassin. The Dark Lord Sauron has a job for you. He wants you to pass on your skills to this little elfling here."

Ciaran kept his surprise from showing on his face. "Why?" he asked.

"Lord Sauron has plenty of orcs and men to take out the armies of his enemies," the Witch-King said. "What he needs now is a special warrior— an assassin— to kill those who are not at the front lines of war. The slaying of Kings, Lords, and leaders is more delicate than what orcs and goblins are capable of. Such a profession requires... finesse. The Dark Lord has no desire to retrain assassins every time his chosen one dies, and so the answer is obvious. No race is more deadly than the elves, and even their children can be molded." The Witch-King stopped his circling, turning to stare at Ciaran. "I do not want this elfling tortured, mutilated, or beaten into submission. That is not what Lord Sauron demands. We need an assassin, quick with his mind and quicker with a blade, loyal to none but his employer. You will teach him your skills."

With these words the Witch-King grabbed the Prince by the back of his tunic, throwing him at Ciaran. The assassin deftly caught the child, setting him upright before looking up at the King of the Nazgûl.

"Very well." he said simply. He turned to look at Legolas. "Come."

With that, he walked into the depths of the fortress, and paused just inside the doorway. The elfling hesitated a moment, glancing nervously at the Witch-King before deciding he would take his chances with the strange man and hurrying after the assassin. Elf Prince and Assassin walked side by side in silence, Legolas glancing curiously at Ciaran from time to time, looking up at the assassin with wide, innocent eyes. Such innocent eyes, eyes that reminded him of—

Ciaran squashed the grief before it could fully form, his expression never changing. He did not deserve to feel grief. His hands were covered in too much blood, and his heart was too hard for such emotions. Emotions were weaknesses. Weaknesses that could be exploited. It was that weakness, that emotion, that had caused _them_ to be— that caused The Incident. He _did not_ deserve emotion.

So why did he have to keep reminding himself that?

Ciaran did not outwardly acknowledge the Prince's curiosity, keeping his expression stoic and cold. He halted in front of the room that the orcs had given him— a room he now knew was going to be his home for quite a while— and opened the door. The "room" was in fact four rooms, leading out to a personal training area outside. It was only now that Ciaran understood the significance of the location of the room, or perhaps the proper word would be "apartment". The apartment consisted of two bedrooms, a living area, and study, only separated by thick stone-block walls.

"This is your new home, Prince." Ciaran said bluntly. "Get used to it."

Legolas moved cautiously into the apartment, glancing around before turning back to the assassin. "I won't be here long." he said in a confident voice. "My Ada will come rescue me."

Ciaran barely stifled a scoff. With the Witch-King and Nazgûl present, plus the thousands of orcs inside the fortress, it would take the combined might of Mirkwood, Lothlorien, _and_ Rivendell to even stand a chance in a rescue attempt. "This is your home now. And I wouldn't mention your father here. There's no need to anger the orcs. And angry orcs hurt people."

The Prince quieted, glancing nervously out the door before shuffling closer to Ciaran. "You won't let the orcs hurt me." he said quietly.

Ciaran's eyebrow inched upward at his open naivety. "Why not?"

The elfling looked up at him and Ciaran was once again caught in the innocence of those silver-blue eyes. "You will protect me because you are not a bad man." His head tipped slightly, as if he were listening to voices only he could hear. "You are very sad, but you are not a bad man."

Ciaran mentally cursed the elfling for making him so unsettled, and himself for letting him. Unwanted memories and emotions were rushing through a body he had once thought incapable of producing them. It was the eyes, he decided. The innocent, childish, pure eyes that reminded the assassin so much of _him_ and _her_. He must be weaker than he thought for a child to shatter him so easily.

"Don't count on that, Prince." the assassin told the elfling, before opening the door to the smaller bedroom "This is your room. Go to bed. We start your training tomorrow."

He expected protests or exclamations about being rescued tomorrow, but none came. The tiny elfling merely nodded, taking off his dirty shoes and climbing into the bed with his day clothes on. Ciaran would have to ask for proper clothes for the child tomorrow. Before the confused assassin could retreat, Legolas's small voice sounded out of the dark depths of the room. "What's your name, Mister?"

The assassin paused in the doorway. What should the boy call him? Master? Teacher? Mentor? "I am Ciaran." The words slipped out before he could stop them and he blinked, surprised at himself.

"Nice to meet you..." the Prince mumbled, and was immediately asleep, leaving a confused assassin to retreat to his own room.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

_The moment Ciaran's surroundings came into focus, the assassin knew he was dreaming. His surroundings were terribly, horribly familiar, and yet he always knew that they would appear the moment he shut his eyes. He had this dream almost every night, ever since the Incident. The dream was The Incident, after all. And the dream— the memory— always started the same way. Beneath the shining sun stood a man and a woman on a porch._

"_I can't do this anymore," Eithne, his wife— the one woman he ever truly loved— said. Her red hair was pulled back into a loose bun, her green eyes flashing with emotions. She was wearing the blue dress he had given her for her birthday, a small spattering of flour on the skirt from her earlier attempts at baking._

_Ciaran could not stop the words that came from himself next, unable to prevent the events before him from taking place. "Eithne—"_

"_You said you were going to stop," the red-haired woman whispered, voice cracking. "You said you were going to get an honest job."_

_His dream/memory self looked at the ground, fists clenched tightly at his sides. "I know, darling and I'm sorry. Being an assassin is a part of who I am. It's all that I'm good at."_

"_You could use your medical knowledge to become a healer—"_

"_I only know some healing herbs and most of the pressure points I use are harmful or deadly."_

"_You could do woodwork or become a blacksmith—"_

"_But I will never be more than average."_

_And then his wife exploded, screaming at him with her eyes glowing like emerald flames. "Is that what it is? You want to be special? You think that you're only good at killing?"_

_His memory/dream self avoided her accusing gaze, looking out over the lush fields that surrounded their home. His voice was soft and heartbroken when he spoke again. "I am special. I was trained from childhood to kill the enemies of my father and older brother. While other children were outside playing I was throwing knives at a target. I want to be a normal farmer or baker or blacksmith for you and Brian, Eithne, but I cannot deny who I am any more than I can stop the moon from rising."_

_She was quiet for the longest time, piercing eyes never leaving his face. It was those eyes that had captivated him the first time they had met. Her green eyes had been filled with such wonder and innocence that he had felt moved by them, like a shadow reaching for the light. The naivety had long-since vanished from Eithne's eyes, but was now in the bright blue eyes of their son, Brian. Brian, who had just turned five years old. Finally, his wife spoke._

"_Leave."_

_The one word echoed in Ciaran's mind, and the oak door had been shut before the single dreadful word had fully registered. Memory/dream Ciaran stared at the closed door, speechless, for a long five minutes._

_Then he walked away._

_Every single day, in the ten years since The Incident, Ciaran wished he had not left that front porch. He wished he had not gone to the nearest tavern, drinking for all he was worth. He wished he had not staggered home at one in the morning, almost too intoxicated to see straight. If he had not left, if he had not returned so late, then maybe he would have arrived in time to stop his wife and child from being murdered._

_As it was, Ciaran could not change the events in his dream any more than he could change the events of the past. The assassin was grateful that the fuzziness and headache he had received from drinking did not transfer into his dreams. At the same time, he wished it did. Every time he had the dream, Ciaran was able to see the scene in perfect clarity, unlike what had happened in real life. And every time he had the dream/memory, he noticed another little detail, thought about the choices he could have made, tried to imagine the exact events of his family's deaths until his stomach clenched. Now, Ciaran lived for the extra noticed details in the mystery that had never been solved, hoping that one day he would discover who had murdered his wife and son. In the ten straight years of dreaming/remembering The Incident, no such revelation had come forth._

_Until tonight._

_Ciaran **saw him**._

_His dream/memory self was stumbling towards the front porch, not paying attention to the world around him when he— the Ciaran of the present— **saw** **him** disappearing into the forest behind the house. **He** was not a Man as Ciaran had expected. **He** was not an Elf as the assassin had thought in his darkest moments. **He** was not a Dwarf as the man had mused when drunk. **He** was not of the race of any of the Free People of Middle-earth._

_**He** was an orc._

_An icy chill trickled down Ciaran's spine as he watched the creature vanish, blending with the shadows. The creature who had killed his family, a member of the race that he had worked for many times after the Incident without a second thought, who he was working for __**right now**__. A twig snapped behind him and he twisted, stiffening as he spotted Legolas. Legolas? What was he doing in the dream? The elfling looked up at him with innocent silver-blue eyes, so different yet so similar to Brian's bright blue, and Eithne's fiery green._

_As Ciaran watched the silver-blue eyes hardened, the light within them going out. Suddenly Legolas looked dangerous, like a deadly predator ready to strike. Ciaran felt an icy chill just by looking at him, the feeling of danger making his heart pound in his chest. A glint of metal caught the man's eye and he looked down, face paling with horror as he saw the bloody knife in the elfling's hand._

"_So will you do it?" a voice asked from behind him._

_Ciaran whipped around to find Eithne standing behind him, blood from her chest wound dried on her blue dress. Beside her stood Brian, brown-haired, blue-eyed Brian, who stared at his father with hatred in his eyes._

"_Will you do what those monsters want?" Eithne asked in a cold, accusing tone. _

_Ciaran turned back to look at Legolas and his heart froze as he saw not the young elfling, but a small brown-haired boy with cold hazel eyes. A boy who was covered in blood but did not care. A monster to his core._

"_Will you turn him into a killer..." Eithne whispered coldly in his ear. "... just like you?"_

Ciaran snapped awake, eyes opening to the sight of dark stone above him. He did not breath harshly and he was not covered in perspiration like some are wont to do when waking from nightmares. Instead he was silent, and absolutely still, staring blankly at the ceiling he could barely see.

As silent as a shadow he stood, exiting his room on soft steps and entering the one adjacent to his. The Elf Prince was fast asleep, eyes open and glassy with his breathing soft and even. Ciaran stood next to the bed for a moment before sitting on the mattress's edge, trying to collect his thoughts. He could not deny many things this night. One was that he was employed by the race that had murdered his wife and son. Another was that they expected him to turn this little elfling into a cold-blooded killer. And finally... Ciaran realized he did not want to.

So now what?

The assassin knew he could easily escape Dol Guldur by himself. He could not with an elfling in tow. Firstly, the Prince's glow was a beacon in the dark fortress. Secondly, the Witch-King would be able to sense him no matter how well-hidden he was. In other words, Ciaran knew that escape was not an option, for him or the Prince. He could not leave the boy here alone, after all. Not now that he was so reminded of Brian.

And yet he had no choice but to train the innocent child. If he refused, the Witch-King would find another to turn Legolas into Sauron's Assassin. Ciaran would not allow that to happen. So what could he do?

Legolas shifted and mumbled in his sleep, sticking a thumb into his mouth. Lips twitching— Brian used to do that too— Ciaran gently took the appendage out of the elfling's mouth, receiving no protests or moves to place the thumb back where it had been. Legolas would _never_ work for those monsters— the monsters that killed his family— not while he drew breath. The assassin gently brushed a hand over the long pale locks, smiling softly as the elfling mumbled in response. Ciaran had to save him, to keep the young one whole and good. Eithne would have wanted him too. But how?

Ciaran sat with the sleeping elfling for the longest time, trying to figure out a way to prevent the Witch-King from getting his assassin. Slowly, an idea formed in the man's mind and he grinned, a grin that was a complex mix of triumphant and pained.

_Yes, I will train this child to be an assassin,_ he decided. _But I will not train him for what you wish, vile creatures. He will not become one of your merciless killers. I will teach him compassion, morals, justice, and love. I will teach him the wonders of Middle-earth and why it is worth fighting for... even though I did not. Legolas will not work for the Enemy, he will be a warrior of the Free People of Middle-earth. I will teach him how to kill __**orcs**__. I will teach him how to fight __**Dark**__ Sorcery. I will teach him how shield his mind and soul from e__vil, so that it may never corrupt him.__ I will teach him everything you want me to, but it will not be for use against the forces of Good. He will use them against __**you**__. And he __**will destroy you all**__. Prepare yourselves, servants of the Shadow. Your doom is coming!_

**LOTRLOTRLOTR**

**A/N: This idea just popped into my head while I was trying to get over my writer's block on my other stories. I still have writer's block for most of my other stuff, but I have four chapters of this done so I decided to start posting it. I hope you enjoyed it!**

**Please review! Give me feedback!**


	2. 1: In the Depths of Dol Guldur

**Chapter One: In the Depths of Dol Guldur**

_Third Age 2611. (400 years ago...)_

Dol Guldur. The Hill of Sorcery. A fortress of darkness and evil, it stood tall in the Southern section of the forest once known as Greenwood the Great, now called Mirkwood. The structure was a beacon for all kinds of evil, from the Nazgûl that resided there to the orcs, goblins, and cruel men that were drawn to the black towers of the fortress. For hundreds of years Dol Guldur emitted it's malice into the surrounding forest, corrupting the once-green trees until they blackened with anger and hatred, lashing out against the light. It was said that the fortress then had this affect on all things that resided within it, dooming them to evil. The Witch-King's presence only added to the stronghold's might. Few could resist the corruption, and even fewer could make themselves immune. And yet, deep in Dol Guldur's dark halls, two beings were indeed immune to their home's power.

Legolas sat on the railing of a balcony that overlooked the forest, one leg drawn up to his chest while the other swung freely in the air. Long pale blonde hair cascaded to his mid-back, left loose except for the two braids that kept stragglers away from his face. Normally, an elf such as himself would be attacked and killed on sight by all of the Evil in Dol Guldur. However, Legolas was a special case. Because while he had the gracefulness, looks, and ears of an elf, Legolas did not glow like all other elves did. Without his natural glow, Legolas could easily pass for a man as long as he covered his ear-tips. He was a very fair and beautiful "man" of course, but still a man to the casual observer.

Ciaran had taught Legolas how to suppress his inner light early on. It was necessary for the young elf's survival in Dol Guldur. Orcs and other dark creatures all had a profound hatred for elves, not because of their beauty or grace, but because of their natural glow. The glow— a beacon of light in the darkest places— angered and disgusted the orcs in particular, reminding them of what they once were. Orcs did not like to be reminded that they were once elves. And so they attacked all elves with a fierce and savage blood-lust. Luckily, Legolas was able to suppress his inner light mere days after entering Dol Guldur, so the orcs generally left him alone. At least, they did not try to tear him apart as an elfling.

As a result, suppressing his glow had become second nature to Legolas. It put no strain on his mind, body, or spirit, and was a helpful tool when sneaking around in dark shadows. The only side effect that came with this technique was intriguing but harmless. For an unknown reason, Legolas's eyes turned a bright violet— and stayed that way— whenever his inner light was suppressed. Legolas had been suppressing his glow nonstop for the past eighty years of his life, and would have forgotten that his eyes were naturally silver-blue if not for Ciaran reminding him.

Ciaran had become a mix of teacher, friend, and father-figure for the young elf. Legolas did not remember his birth father, or anything from his life before being captured by the orcs and taken here. Occasionally, he would get a brief flash of blurred memories as he slept, but other than that, nothing. He did not know why the memories had faded— he had never received any head injuries in his training with Ciaran— but had a feeling that the darkness of Dol Guldur had something to do with it. Yet that same power that had been unable to corrupt him or Ciaran. Along with the expected training to become a warrior and assassin, Ciaran had taught Legolas four important lessons, ones he knew were imperative in the deception against the Nazgûl:

"_Harden your heart so you never falter."_

"_Shield your soul so it cannot be corrupted."_

"_Close off your mind so none can invade it."_

"_Mask your emotions so they cannot be used against you." _

To the Nazgûl and orcs of Dol Guldur, Legolas and Ciaran were loyal servants of Sauron. In reality, the two were plotting their enemies' dooms. Along with learning how to kill a man in a hundred different ways, Legolas learned the quickest and most efficient way to slay orcs and goblins. When learning how to hide from Light Magic and the Magic of the Elves, Legolas was given lessons on how to resist Black Magic in it's darkest forms. Legolas learned curses in Black Speech and words of healing in Sindarin and Quenyan, and was fluent in many of the languages of the different species of Middle-earth.

Legolas was deadly to both sides in the war for Middle-earth, and could easily have been a rogue element, shifting from side to side like Ciaran had for many years. Yet it had been the assassin's teachings and shielding of the young elf from Evil's influence, and one memory that would keep Legolas in the fight for Good forever.

The only memory he had from his past was that of an orc taunting him about his mother's death.

The elf wanted nothing more than to stab the Orc Captain, Grihtz, through the heart every time he saw him, but knew that he could not. The Enemy believed that Legolas was completely loyal to Sauron, and that Ciaran was a neutral element but swung their way. Deception was the two's best friend in Dol Guldur, and it would not do for the Enemy to be alerted that their two "loyal" assassins were plotting against them. Not while the two were trapped.

The Witch-King's power and control over the fortress was too much for Legolas and Ciaran to escape without a confrontation with the Ringwraiths. Despite their training and skill, even they stood no chance against all nine of the Nazgûl, especially in Dol Guldur. The Black Magic powered by the Ringwraiths' presences— specifically the Witch-King's— was too potent in the fortress for them to overcome. If they tried to fight or escape, their movements would be slowed and their wills weakened by the Witch-King. It was inevitable in Dol Guldur.

While immune to corruption, the two were not infallible against such compressed Dark energy. Eighty years of planning would be wasted if they tried to leave while the Witch-King was inside the fortress. Like a person who knew there was a bug crawling on their skin, the Witch-King was ever-aware of Legolas and Ciaran's movements within the fortress. He did not know what they were doing, but he knew where they were. And so the two assassins patiently waited. The longer they did nothing to openly oppose the Nazgûl or orcs, the more lax the Enemy became.

There had been a few near-misses when Legolas was younger, though. The elfling's first kill had been a man who worked for the Shadow, when Legolas was the equivalent of a human seven year-old. He had barely managed to hold back his emotions until he and Ciaran had returned to their rooms in the fortress. There, the elder assassin had held the elfling as he sobbed for the life he had taken. To this day, Legolas still felt grief whenever he took the life of a man, and even then the life would be taken only in self-defense.

For orcs and goblins, he had no such qualms. The elf could easily kill them without being provoked. This difference in reaction was a relief to Ciaran, who had worried that his apprentice would become completely detached when he killed. Legolas's grief saddened yet warmed the older assassin's heart, telling him that the young compassionate elfling still resided in the warrior's body. The goodness was well-hidden, but it _did_ exist. And that was all that mattered.

Legolas continued to watch the trees, longing to go outside of the fortress. It was not a desire to be beneath the trees so much as a simple wish to not have stone around him. He was not completely without nature, of course. As an elf, he could not survive within the stone fortress forever. Years ago, Ciaran managed to convince the orcs to plant a single oak tree in the two assassins' training grounds. It was a shadowed tree, but still a tree nonetheless.

That tree was enough for Legolas to connect with, and learn it's languages along with the language of it's light kin. Through this tree, he could vaguely converse with the shadowed trees outside of Dol Guldur, even reaching the light trees that lived further away if he concentrated. At first the elf— at that time an elfling— did not know why the shadowed trees spoke to and understood him, accepting him unlike his kin, but suspected that it had something to do with his suppressed glow.

He asked his oak tree about their acceptance once, and received a surprising answer. To the trees, Legolas's aura was not blinding and painful like the auras of other elves. It was pleasantly muted, not overwhelming the shadowed trees senses. The trees did not feel pain at his touch. Instead, when he touched them, they felt warm, vaguely remembering an echo of what they once were.

Light. Joyful. Green. Lively. Beautiful.

The touch of the Eldar once brought this forgotten joy to the trees. Now, all it brought was pain. The elves' touch burned as painful as fire, too light and warm for the shadowed trees. Their touch hurt, and pain made the trees angry. It made them forget their love for the elves. It made them want the source of their pain _gone_. But this was not true for Legolas, the elf that was not too bright for their darkness, but not too shadowed for their remnants of life.

The shadowed trees called him Daelas. Shadow Leaf.

Legolas was not sure how he felt about the name. His worst fear was that he truly was doomed to the shadows, that he was not quite an elf because of his abilities and skills. In all the years of learning History from Ciaran, Legolas had never heard of an Elven Assassin, or an elf who could talk with shadowed trees and suppress his inner light. Elves were beings of purity and light, were they not? So what was he?

Legolas half-heard, half-sensed the orc coming up behind him but did not turn, his posture still calm and relaxed. The orc halted fifteen feet behind the elf, and he could hear the dark soldier shifting from foot to foot. The assassin mentally smirked, keeping all expression off his face. When he was an elfling, the orcs left him alone because of his suppressed glow, the Witch-King's orders, and Ciaran's killing sprees if they so much as looked at his apprentice the wrong way. Now, the residents of Dol Guldur tended to avoid him for different reasons: fear and survival.

If an orc or goblin attacked Ciaran or Legolas, the two were free to kill them in retaliation. The Witch-King did not care what happened to his lowest grunts, and if they were stupid enough to antagonize the assassins, they were too stupid to live. The Lord of the Nazgûl was unaware how much the two assassins used this to their advantage, or how many orcs they actually killed. Orcs died all the time in Dol Guldur, stabbed in the back by their allies. Legolas and Ciaran could kill without leaving a trace, or in a way that made it appear that a Race other than their own committed the act. And they had done just that, many, many times.

"Yes?" Legolas asked the orc in a flat, cool voice.

The orc jumped, backing up a step. "The Witch-King requests your presence." he said in a deep, gravelly voice. He looked as if a dropped pin would make him flee.

Legolas looked at him with his unnerving violet eyes, the orc swiftly caught in the chaotic depths of his gaze. It was well-known that some elves could capture a being with the hidden wisdom and power shown through their eyes, an ability that some ignorant mortals called magic. In reality, this "power" was nothing more than the mortal's reaction and surprise. Elves that were thousands of years old looked no older than thirty, and yet their eyes could show ancientness beyond mortal comprehension. It was this that made many mortals freeze under the gaze of the Eldar.

Legolas's glowing violet eyes amplified the affect, so it was a little more effective than the norm. Through his eyes, many could see wisdom, but also danger and wildness. His eyes could promise death, inspire fear, and cause the bravest man to falter. All because of their unnatural shade, the impossible hue of violet no Race of Middle-earth possessed.

The elf let the orc sweat a little beneath his gaze before he turned back to the window. "Your message is noted. Leave."

He spoke purposely, in a cold, condescending voice, waiting for the orc to react. Orcs were proud creatures, quick to anger if insulted. Angry orcs did not think, which was all Legolas needed. Sure enough, the orc snapped, grabbing him by the throat and lifting him into the air. "Why you little—" He paused, yellow eyes widening as he realized _who_ he had just attacked. Unfortunately for him, it was already too late.

Legolas remained calm despite his lack of air. Moving his right hand, he gently pressed a spot on the grunt's forearm. The orc yelped as his arm went numb, his hold on the elf relaxing. Legolas landed lightly on his feet. He smiled at the orc, a fake, cold smile that promised nothing but death.

The elf spoke a single word. "Run."

And the orc did.

Legolas watched him go, mentally counting down in his head. _Three..._

The orc was out the door, running down the hall to get away from the elf with the unnatural eyes.

_Two..._

He headed towards the barracks, where Legolas was not allowed to go. Surely he would be safe there?

_One..._

The elf was not following him. Why was he not following him?

_Zero_.

The orc paused, standing stock-still in the center of the hallway. Without making a sound he collapsed, dead before he could hit the floor. A small wound to his sternum trickled black blood. The orc had not even known he had been stabbed. No one was around to witness his sudden demise, and the orcs that would stumble upon his body later would shrug and drag him away without even considering an investigation. It was these small acts of vengeance against his captors that kept Legolas sane, that prevented him from exploding and rampaging through the orcs ranks until those responsible for his capture and his mother's death were massacred. That would not do, because following that path would lead to nothing but his own death. And Legolas, trapped as he was, had too much to live for.

Back at the balcony, Legolas turned on his heel and traveled through the fortress, headed towards the Witch-King's seat of power that resided in the tallest tower. The halls of Dol Guldur were ruined black stone, not even the torches holding back the large shadows that penetrated the fortress. The sun never shone on the Hill of Sorcery, the sky always in a deep overcast, yet somehow it did not rain. The Darkness was so strong that many Elves, Dwarves, and Men would have collapsed before it's might. But not Legolas.

At the bottom of the stairs he met Ciaran, who merely quirked an eyebrow at him but did not speak. The Dunedain had not changed much in the eighty years since Legolas had come to Dol Guldur. At least, not physically. The cold, apathetic man he had once been had been replaced by a calm teacher and father. Ciaran was a mix of the assassin he used to be and the father he had become with Brian. The orcs never saw the patience Ciaran had when teaching Legolas the pressure points in a human body, and never spotted the sadness in the man's eyes whenever the elf named them all correctly.

Ciaran could not escape with the elfling all those years ago, but he did manage to keep Legolas's childhood relatively happy. He managed to keep the elf good, and made sure that he knew which side he was on in the battle for Middle-earth. Ciaran was glad that Legolas did not face the cruel training he had faced as a child, and that the elf never became like him.

Side by side, the two hidden lights in a sea of darkness ascended the winding stairs that led up to the Witch-King. As they climbed, the air around them grew steadily heavier and darker, the Black Magic that made the Hill of Sorcery so evil escalating the higher they went. Neither elf nor man were affected by it, their shields locked tight around them, keeping their minds and bodies safe. They halted before a large door made of black wood, Ciaran knocking once before entering.

The Witch-King sat on a throne of black stone, blending into the shadows that shrouded his cloaked form. Torched with green flames lined the walls, doing nothing to bring light to the room and only making the shadows deeper. It seemed as if each corner was an abyss, ready to swallow anyone who dared to wander too close. Legolas and Ciaran stopped before the Witch-King, kneeling and bowing low before their "Lord".

"You summoned us, My Lord?" Ciaran asked in a smooth, calm voice. The Nazgûl Lord's fear-inspiring aura had no affect on either assassin. They did not fear the Ringwraiths.

A soft, hissing voice emitted from the darkness beneath the hood. "For eighty years you have taught your pupil your trade. Tomorrow he will be tested."

Neither assassin reacted or blinked. "What is the test, My Lord?" Ciaran asked.

Flaming eyes glittered from within the dark depths. "He will face thirty orcs in battle. If he survives, we will begin the final stage of his training."

Legolas and Ciaran kept their thoughts off of their faces. They both knew what the "final stage" was. The Witch-King would cast Dark Magic upon Legolas, binding him in servitude to Sauron. That was not what worried the two, however. Legolas's training and resistance against Dark Magic was too thorough for the Witch-King's magic to work. There would be no affect on him, and the Nazgûl Lord would instantly know he had been deceived. The two would be found out and killed, all of their work for nothing.

Legolas did not straighten up or let false pleasure show on his face. That would only be seen as fake. He was an assassin, trained to be the Hand of Sauron. He showed no emotion, he felt no emotion. He was cold, aloof, and apathetic to all things, even the news that he would soon be serving his Lord. Legolas knew what was expected of him, and acted his part accordingly.

"Unfortunately, I and my kin have a prior engagement in Minas Morgul and cannot watch your test." the Witch-King continued. "Captain Grihtz will oversee your final exam. You are dismissed."

Heartbeats did not change, expressions remained the same, but deep inside the safety of their thoughts Legolas and Ciaran were experiencing a mix of hope and suspicion. They bowed to the Ringwraith before exiting the room, feeling his dark gaze on their backs.

_Why would the Witch-King tell us that he and the other Nazg__ûl are__ leaving?_ Legolas wondered, face revealing nothing. _Does he trust us or is he suspicious?_ He did not allow his concern to show on his face or in his movements, walking through the dark halls as casually as one strode through a village market. There was no room for fear or uncertainty in Dol Guldur. Not for them.

They made their way through the dark halls, steps confident and sure as they ignored the orcs around them. Power equaled survival in a place like this, and the two assassins exuded it in the subtle, dangerous auras surrounding them. The message they sent to the orcs around them was simple: _Anger__ us and die._ It was intriguing that two beings could hold such power, yet be so powerless at the same time.

No one stopped the pair as they went to their rooms, some orcs even flinching out of the way as they passed. That was how things were run here. Inspiring power and fear let one come out on top. Even though all he used these techniques on were orcs, Legolas still hated it. His natural personality wanted to lead and be respected through love and good deeds. But in Dol Guldur, that would not happen.

Ciaran and Legolas entered their small section of the fortress, going out into their small training field and sitting beneath Legolas's shadowed oak tree. Still, the two did not speak their thoughts aloud. Instead, they communicated silently in the sign language of the Dwarves, Iglishmêk, which not even the Witch-King knew.

"_What now?"_ Legolas asked. _"Tomorrow is my trial, and the Witch-King departs from Dol Guldur. Do you think this is a test, and he will remain here to see what we do?"_

"_If he remains here, you will be able to sense it."_ Ciaran responded. _"Even so, tomorrow is our last chance to escape. If we do not, we will be discovered anyway when the Witch-King attempts to bind you to the Dark Lord. We must leave tomorrow."_

"_What is your plan?"_ Legolas signed back. _"Do we attempt to sneak past their defenses?"_

"_Yes. Though if the Witch-King is not out of the fortress when we do, it will be useless."_ the man closed his eyes for a brief moment, letting out a soft sigh. _"__Either way, tomorrow will be our last day in Dol __Guldur. Tomorrow we will leave this place, through freedom or death, Prince."_

Prince. The name that Ciaran always called Legolas, although the elf did not know why. Nor did he care, for it was just a nickname after all.

The fortress of Dol Guldur had failed to take many things from Legolas. He kept his light, his goodness, his joy. He kept his mind, his freedom, his life. He even kept his morals, which many had lost in the dark Hill of Sorcery. But there was one thing he had lost. The elf did not remember much from before his arrival in Hill of Sorcery. He remembered his mother, but only vaguely. Every other memory was gone. _Every single one_.

Legolas did not remember his father. He did not know he had brothers and sisters. He did not remember pieces of the lullaby his mother used to sing to him, or the name of the place he had once called home. He did not even remember what it looked like. All of these memories, pieces of his life from before Dol Guldur, were cut off from him, including the identity he once held.

Legolas did not remember he was a son of the Elvenking of Mirkwood. He did not know he was a Prince.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

The palace of the Elvenking was as somber as a tomb. No laughter sounded through the halls. No gossip was passed between the servants. The guards were stoically silent, expressions blank or grave. A heavy grief hung over the stone halls, like a terrible storm about to break. The tension, despair, and grief were shadows penetrating the heart of the kingdom, and none could lift it.

Thranduil sat on his throne, staring at the door, waiting for it to open. He knew that it would happen soon. Every day, after all of his meetings were done, the Elvenking sat alone in the throne-room, waiting. He did not know why he still waited. The news he received never changed. In fact, it had been growing steadily vaguer and more distant these past few years. Yet deep in his heart, Thranduil knew that one of his older children would come through that door after a day on patrols. They would come in, with weariness and despair on their faces, and tell him that they could not find Legolas. They would say that they could not get close enough to Dol Guldur to find out anything. The shadowed trees reacted too violently for the elves to use stealth around the fortress. And so the warriors would come back with no news.

No news was better and worse than some news. Because Thranduil knew of only two other things his children and the warriors would say if they _did_ manage to find out what happened to Legolas: "He's alive." or "He's dead." The Elvenking did not know what words he feared more. And so the repeated reports of nothing new pained and relieved him. He was so selfishly relieved...

The door opened. Thranduil looked up as Megilag, his second son, strode in. So it was his turn today. Aglar, Megilag, Bereneth and Fael split up the patrols between them, scheduling it into their weekly routine. The King's warrior children always led the patrols, none of the other warriors protesting or asking for a change. There was rarely change.

There was no smile on Megilag's face, but no tears either. Instead his hazel eyes were blank, like the eyes of all his children when they told him nothing. All of them were numb, following the same routine every day, but unwilling to give it up. If they stopped patrolling the border near Dol Guldur, if they stopped trying to find a way past the angry trees and into the fortress, then they were giving up on Legolas.

Legolas, his Greenleaf, now known as the Lost Prince throughout the Elven realms.

Megilag did not go to his father and King, keeping his distance with his eyes on the ground. He could not move from the spot in which he stood, the customary distance for a captain giving a report. He could not break from the routine. He brushed a strand of silver-gold hair back from his face and spoke in a flat voice. "There was nothing."

There it was. The single sentence that Thranduil despised because of it's repetitiveness and prayed for instead of a more terrible alternative. The phrase that had not changed for eighty years. That was all that needed to be said for Thranduil, although in reality it did not need to be spoken. Thranduil always knew there was nothing when his children walked through the door. Eighty years had not been enough time for the grief to fade, and yet it was slowly eating away at the Elvenking's soul. A sharp shudder went through Thranduil and he pressed a hand to his chest. He gasped aloud, leaning over on his throne as physical pain assaulted him. Immediately his second son was at his side, clutching his arm as he shook.

So much could not change, and yet so much had changed. Everyone— his children, his warriors, his people, and himself— suffered, each failure weighing greatly upon them, and only adding to the ever-heavier weights on their hearts and souls. Thranduil was distant and withdrawn, yet somehow managed to keep the kingdom running. The only reason he did not fade long ago was because the children he still had needed him, as did their kingdom. But his family was broken by Luineth's death and Legolas's kidnapping.

Aglar was stiff and cold. He never smiled or walked through the city to greet the people like he used to. Megilag was cold, numb, or harsh, training his warriors grimly and reacting to anything less than perfect with cool anger. He no longer flirted with every Elleth he met. Both eldest sons hunted orcs with a savage hatred in their spare time, leaving none they hunted alive. They were rarely home.

Barhad, who had always been a scholar, dove into his studies, more prone to be reading dusty old scrolls in a tiny, dark study than be outside among the trees. His twin, Bereneth, was quick to anger, snapping at people for the smallest faults. And Fael had not pulled a single prank in all the years since the disappearance, content only when training.

Only Hannel had tried her best to retain her old self and pretend everything was normal. She was still motherly, taking care of all her siblings whenever she visited from Lothlorien. But on her last visit, Bereneth— who had just returned from the Patrol— had screamed at her about not caring about Legolas. Hannel had had gone silent, then left. She simply left, and she had never come back to Mirkwood since. Her siblings would still visit her in Lothlorien on occasion, but not as often as they used to.

The Royal Family's losses were so great, it was no wonder the remaining family had shattered. Legolas and Luineth had been the ties that held them together, they had all realized too late. But now they were drifting apart, almost strangers despite their shared blood.

"Eighty years." the Elvenking rasped. "Eighty years to the day tomorrow." Megilag did not ask what he was speaking of. He knew. Another shudder went through the King's form, another pain striking his heart. "I cannot heal. I cannot let this go. _We_ cannot let go. So we are shattering, fading from within..." He heard his son give a sharp intake of breath and tried to reassure him. "No. I'm _not_ fading. I _won't_ leave you all."

And yet the pain in his chest— in his spirit— said otherwise. It would be so easy to let go, to allow his grieving soul to pass on into death. Thranduil clung grimly to life day by day, clutching to the hope that Legolas would be returned to them one day. But he could feel himself weakening. If something did not happen, if Legolas's fate remained a mystery, the Elvenking feared that he would give in. Only the futile hope and a sense of duty had kept him grounded to Middle-earth for the past eight decades. But it was becoming harder, so, _so_ much harder to resist...

"Ada?" Megilag's concerned voice drew the exhausted father out of his musings.

Thranduil's eyes focused to find his second-eldest son standing in front of him, his hands placed lightly upon his father's shoulders. The fear in those ancient and too-young eyes struck the Elvenking's core, making his heart clench in a way that had nothing to do with fading.

"I am fine." Thranduil tried to reassure him. "I am fine." he repeated, as if to affirm the statement. They both knew that he was lying.

"Ada," Megilag whispered, voice soft and strained. "You cannot carry on like this. None of us can."

Thranduil merely looked at him, the fire in his eyes gone. "Then what do we do, Ion-nin?" he asked. "Do we let go? Do we forget? Do we leave your brother to his fate? Tell me, _what_ should we do?" Years ago, the words might have been said in anger, with a loud voice that demanded obedience. Now, the King's voice was soft, filled with an emptiness that threatened to pull all hearing it into despair.

Megilag stared wordlessly at his father, and spoke with the same numbness as he. "I don't know. I do not know what to do." His head dropped in defeat, his fists clenching at his sides.

Many wondered why the Royal Family had not followed their mother and wife to the grave. At first, it was hope for Legolas that banked them. But now that hope was fading fast. Their grip on life was fading, some more obviously then in others, and with it Mirkwood's ability to fight the Shadow was also failing. Thranduil knew it. His children knew it. The warriors and guards of Mirkwood knew it. And they were powerless to stop it.

If their lasting hope faded completely, or Legolas died, two things could happen. One possibility was that all of the Royal Family would fade, leaving Mirkwood leaderless. Without the will of the King or his children, Mirkwood would fall to the Shadow. The other possibility, however, could be even worse. Thranduil and four of his children— Aglar, Megilag, Bereneth, and Fael— were known to be stubborn, confrontational, and unwilling to compromise with others. If the worst came to pass, instead of fading, the family could become colder than they already were, lashing out at outsiders in anger and rage. Mirkwood Elves already had a reputation of being unfriendly, and that persona could become reality. Either way, the family— except perhaps Hannel who had distanced herself from the others for so long— would be doomed, to slow death or cold unhappiness if Legolas was not returned alive.

And so the Elvenking and his six accountable children prayed for their youngest sibling and son. They begged for Legolas's life, pleading with the Valar to give him back to them. Each day they went out and searched for answers, finding none. And each day they clung to their desperate hope, hope they had kept alive for eighty years.

In the end, hope was all they had left.

**LOTRLOTRLOTR**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings.**

**A/N: Thank you for all of the lovely reviews for last chapter!**

**Translations:**

**Ada/Adar: Daddy/Dad/Father**

**Ion-nin: My son**

**Daelas: Shadowleaf**

**Here's the meanings of Legolas's siblings' names, created on the Elf Name Generator website:**

**Aglar: Glorious**

**Hannel: Intelligent**

**Megilag: Rapid Sword**

**Barhad: One Faithful to Home**

**Bereneth: Bold**

**Fael: Generous**

**Responses to Guest reviews: (Is there another way I can respond to you guys?)**

**To "Guest" 1: Thank you! I still have writers block for my other stuff, I'm afraid. :(**

**To "Lys": Thanks! I take my OCs very seriously because they are MY characters, and I want them to be deep and thorough. I hate flat, cliché OCs. Each of my OCs (Legolas's siblings, Ciaran, etc.) all have in-depth personalities, characteristics, and backstories that I have written down in my notes.**

**To "Guest" 2: Thank you!**

**Please review! All feedback is greatly appreciated.**


	3. 2: The Trial

**Chapter Two: The Trial**

_Third Age 2611 (400 years ago...)_

The fortress Dol Guldur was alive with excitement and activity. The orcs were riled and impatient, eagerly waiting for the battle between Legolas and the thirty Berserker-orcs that the Witch-King had selected to test the elf. Not all the orcs could watch of course. The Witch-King himself had selected those who could witness the battle to properly gauge— and fear— Legolas's skill and ability. An undercurrent of tension and savage excitement seemed to ripple through the ranks of creatures, filling the air with the chaotic buzz of impending blood-lust. The orcs were eager to see blood spilled, be it crimson elven blood or the black blood that ran through the veins of their kind.

Blood has already been spilled in the fortress's dark halls as the orcs entered a betting pool. Some bet the elf would kill all of the orcs, others believed he did not stand a chance against them. The disagreements ended violently, like they always did in Dol Guldur. One side was left wounded or dead while the other smirked in triumph over his adversaries' limp form.

In sharp contrast to the chaos around him, Legolas stood quietly beneath his oak tree for what would be the last time. His eyes were closed and his face tilted up towards the sky. Beside him was Ciaran, who looked completely relaxed but felt anything but. A long moment passed in silence, with the elf standing absolutely still and the man waited patiently. Legolas felt the area around him, the lightness in the air that signified something much more than natural occurences. His heart was light and his thoughts were clear, not surrounded by the pushing dark that always lingered outside of his consciousness. Violet eyes opened.

"The Nine are gone, including the Witch-King," he reported, glancing at his mentor.

Ciaran was quiet, none of his thoughts showing on his face. Still silent, he reached out and gripped Legolas's shoulder, squeezing his arm gently. "Today we change our fates, Prince." he murmured. "Are you ready?"

A heavy weight of tension settled in Legolas's gut. This was it. The upcoming events would decide whether they would walk free or be slaughtered. The elf could feel panic gripping him and clenched his fists, breathing out slowly. There was no room for emotion or fear in the next few hours. Fear and emotions made people hasty, and hastiness led to mistakes. He had to be centered and absolutely calm.

Breathe in. Exhale. Breathe in. Exhale. With each breath Legolas calmed himself, letting go of his nerves and fears and replacing them with instinct and logic. Resolute violet eyes locked with collected hazel and the elf nodded. "I'm ready."

Ciaran nodded once and the two entered their apartment for the final time. The elder assassin glanced at his apprentice, a small, secretive smirk appearing on his lips. "I'll be back." he said, and walked swiftly out of the room.

Legolas watched him go before turning towards his room. He could not help but run his hand along the smooth stone walls as he walked through the rooms that had been his "home" for the past eighty years. Although Dol Guldur was a terrible place, it was the only place he remembered. Yes, the outside world sounded much brighter and more lovable, but the dark stones and cold halls were where he grew up.

Legolas felt a pang of worry mixed with fear that had nothing to do with his upcoming trial. Elves were supposed to be at home among the trees, yet he was content in stone, with only one shadowed oak tree to accompany him. For the thousandth time, Legolas wondered if there was something wrong with him. Was he used to stone because it was where he grew up, or was he an unnatural elf? Yes, he always felt calmer under his tree's boughs but still...

Legolas quickly cut off this train of thought._ Enough of that. I must focus. _

Pushing his worries away, the elf walked into his room, pulling out a small, flat chest from beneath his bed. Gently, he unlocked the chest and lifted the lid, revealing the contents inside. An elegant bow with green-feathered arrows and two long white-handled knives lay in the chest, seeming to glow softly in the shadows caused by Dol Guldur's air. All were of Elven make, smuggled into the fortress by Ciaran many years in the past. They were Legolas's preferred weapons, though he normally would never dare to use them here. However, the time for hiding was quickly passing, and the Elven blades and arrows— along with the other weapons hidden on his person— might give him the edge he needed in the coming battle. Not in the battle against thirty orcs, but afterward, once the orcs realized that they all were under attack.

It was impossible for the two assassins to kill all of the orcs that were gathered to watch the test before one could sound an alarm, but the two soon-to-be escapees had subtlety and distraction on their side. Said distraction was the reason Ciaran had slipped away. It was much easier to sneak about with the Witch-King absent. So much easier it was almost amusing. Almost.

A fatal poison put into the orcs' food would be enough to give Legolas and Ciaran the edge that they would need to escape. The spectators were all eating together, enjoying a final meal before the test. If all went well, the orcs watching and participating in the trial would collapse not long after it began, along with many of the orcs who resided in the fortress. The poison moved slowly through the bloodstream, taking fifteen minutes to reach the heart. Once it passed into that vital organ, it would take immediate effect, causing the heart to constrict and making it's beat falter. This would kill many of the orcs, heavily weakening others. Those who were a little more resistant would have to be taken care of, quickly.

The image of calm and control, Legolas did not look back as he left the apartment, carrying only his weapons and the clothes on his back. He could not bring anything else, like food, or the orcs would suspect something was amiss. Orcs were sometimes stupid and brutish, but not _that_ unobservant. Besides, the elf did not have much for possessions. Ciaran met him just outside of the training grounds but did not speak or even look at him. His face, like Legolas's, showed none of his thoughts. Any nervousness or tension he may have been feeling was trapped within him, only known to himself in the safety of his mind.

The training area was a large arena of stone, on the first floor rectangular in shape. There was no roof, leaving the area open to the elements and sky. Normally, targets, weapons, and shields were lined along the wall, but all had been taken away in favor of giving the orc spectators room to stand. It was odd that such a training round would be "in" the fortress, but the setup kept watchful eyes from knowing the number of orcs within Dol Guldur. The orc spectators were gathered in a jumbled mass, lining the walls. To Legolas they were almost like a thundercloud, shifting and rolling with impatience as they waited for the bitter violence to begin.

Legolas's opponents— all Berserker-orcs— stood in the center of the field, waiting impatiently for their adversary to arrive. Berserkers were specially trained to not feel or acknowledge pain, and were incredibly difficult to kill. Berserkers did whatever it took to complete their mission, with no regard for their bodies. If they died in the process of their mission, but completed it, then they were a success. This put the number of Berserkers at a low in the Armies of Sauron, of course, because they lacked survival instinct and tended to die quickly. Legolas was glad about that, for if every orcs fought like a Berserker, high death rate or no, then those who fought for a free Middle-earth would be overwhelmed by the Berserkers' relentless rage.

The elf admitted to himself that he was a little nervous about battling the thirty Berserkers. Unless the poison killed all of them, it would be up to Ciaran and him to slay them _immediately_, before they could shout an alarm. That was easier said then done. While most Berserkers lacked finesse in battle, opting to use random swings and stabs to kill their opponents, these thirty Berserkers had a bit more skill. The thirty selected Berserkers were both tough and smart, masters in their choice of weapon. Ten were swordsmen, seven were archers, five hefted axes, and eight preferred whips and daggers.

Their battle-cries would be unheeded— Legolas was _supposed_ to be fighting them after all— but a shout that the two assassins were escaping would be noticed. Legolas knew that he had to take out as many of the Berserkers as possible during the few minutes he had in the trial, leaving only a few potential opponents left when the poison took hold. Hopefully it would prove to only be a precautionary measure. Legolas trusted his and Ciran's knowledge of poisons, and was confident that it would kill most if not all of the orcs, but Berserkers tended to be unpredictable.

Once, Legolas had watched a battle between one Berserker and six orcs. One orc had managed to stab the Berserker in the heart, but the creature kept fighting, killing all of his opponents before dying himself. As the elf approached the center of the training area, he reminded himself to attack the instantaneous-death points Ciaran had drilled into him. His other advantage in this battle was not just his knowledge of killing strikes, but also the weakness no Berserker seemed able to overcome. For an unknown reason, perhaps because of the nerve-loss experienced due to their pain training, Berserkers had little to no reflex reaction. Legolas, meanwhile, was an elf, who could react faster than a blink. In the end, that was what would help the elf the most, for this was not a test of swordplay, but a trial of how quickly and efficiently Legolas could kill. Most targets would have many guarding them, after all.

The orcs parted as he passed, Ciaran at his right shoulder, but Legolas focused on his opponents, noting the gaps in their armor and any other weaknesses he could find. _Eyes, head, throat, under the arm, mid-side, lower back, back of the knees..._

Too quickly, but after what seemed like hours, Legolas was at the center of the clearing The orcs gathered together, closing off the exit behind him. His posture was relaxed, as if he was waiting for a friendly game to start rather than a battle to the death. The elf let his gaze pass over the Berserkers before settling on Grihtz, who would be overseeing the match. He grinned mentally. _Good. I won't have to hunt you down before I leave then..._

"Today is the trial of Assassin Legolas!" the Orc Captain boomed, unaware of Legolas's murderous thoughts. "Battle to the death, thirty against one! Anything is acceptable except idiotic maggots—" Here he shot the watching orcs a glare. "—interfering!" Grihtz backed out of the clearing, joining the eager orcs that lined the area. "Begin in three... two... one... START!"

And Legolas _moved_.

The spectators were stunned into silence, watching with mute fear as the elf became a blur. Barely a second passing, he stabbed one mace-wielding Berserker in the throat and a whip-carrying one in the eye, twisting to behead a swordsman before he could react. Not breaking stride, the elf unsheathed his bow and released three arrows, the shafts burying themselves into his targets' throats. Two more archers and an axeman fell.

His bow was back over his shoulder and his knives were drawn in an instant. By then the remaining twenty-four Berserkers were upon him, shrieking battle-cries as they converged upon the elf. At least, they tried to.

Like water flowing through loose stones, Legolas danced around the Berserkers, letting them stab, wound, and kill each other as they attacked with haste and vigor. They were overconfident, arrogant that they would overwhelm him, and their impatience became their downfall. Legolas did not move with large leaps and bounds, but with tiny shifts of his body, simply allowing the weapons to pass by him instead of blocking. The assassin lashed out against his foes with quick, precise stabs. In the massed melee around the elf, twelve more Berserkers fell.

Legolas leaned over, a Berserker's mace swinging above him harmlessly. As graceful as a dancer he straightened himself, blade snaking through the gap between armor-plates and into scarred flesh. Before the Berserker could fall Legolas gave him a harsh kick, sending him careening into two of his fellows. Legolas twisted and leapt out of the way of a sword, slashing through the two downed Berserkers' neck arteries as he passed over them.

Another enemy came, another shift in position was used, and a sword struck the Berserker at his shoulder. His arms swept sideways, and the swordsman suffered a blow that cut into his head, the second stab ending his existence. Legolas kicked out, bringing an axe-wielder to his knees, and rolled out of the way as a whip descended where he had been, striking the axe-wielder instead. Legolas grabbed the whip, pulling, and buried his right blade into the Berserker's forehead up to its hilt.

Five Berserkers were left, barely three minutes into the battle. Legolas mentally calculated the passing time since Ciaran had left to complete his mission, subtracting the time since the orcs had eaten. He did not turn away from the fight to catch eyes with his mentor, pushing himself as the final count ticked down.

_Three..._

The last axe-wielding Berserker went down, killed by a swift cut that severed his spinal cord.

_Two..._

Two arrows stopped two more Berserkers' hearts, one into the head and one into the throat of his enemies. Legolas readied himself as the final two advanced.

_One... _

Legolas's blade slashed across the last dagger-wielding Berserker, the orc's whip already cut by his knives. The Berserker remained on his feet, stabbing at him wildly. The elf _shifted_ out of the way, grabbing his opponent's arm as he passed while pressing a point on the orc's neck with his other hand. The Berserker slumped, lifeless. The elf's last opponent froze as he realized he was alone, and knew he stood no chance against this adversary. His training soon kicked in however, and the Berserker charged the assassin, shouting a challenge. The elf did not move, waiting for his final enemy to come.

_Zero._

Legolas dispatched of the final Berserker... and around him, the orcs fell. They collapsed in large waves, the poison in their bodies stopping their hearts as efficiently as a blade. None made a sound as they fell, only soft thuds marking their contact with the ground. Without signals or words, Ciaran and Legolas flitted among the spectators, silencing the orcs that still lived too fast for them to even realize they had been struck. The two were blurs, dancing through the orcs with blades flashing in the dark. Silent as death itself they ended their enemies lives, the orcs falling to the weapons of the ones they kept prisoner for so long.

Legolas's eyes fell on the final orc and he smiled, a cold, feral smile that was a terrible sight to behold. He strode forward, a predator who had sighted long awaited prey, and paused. He stared into terrified yet arrogant yellow eyes, and his own expression hardened. Quick as a blink, metal sliced through flesh and bone, and Orc Captain Grihtz's head rolled away from his body. Legolas looked down at the decapitated body and spoke in a voice colder than ice.

"That was for my mother, _Delorcion_."

He turned away, running after Ciaran as the elder assassin headed for the door. Now the difficult part began: getting out of the fortress without being detected. Legolas's senses were on high-alert as he followed his mentor down the first hall. It would not take long for the orcs to know something had happened. The area in which the elf's test had taken place was now too quiet. An observant orc might notice the unnatural silence, and come to investigate. Which meant the two assassins had to be as far out of the fortress as possible before the alarm came.

To get out of Dol Guldur, Legolas and Ciaran had seven sets of guards to pass. The fortress was set up like a castle, but has a series of extra guards and gates inside the building like those found in a large city. Metal-bar gates were built into the maze-like halls, their purpose to delay and confuse enemies that managed to get into the fortress. A series of walls separated some of the halls, their purpose to trap intruders between the wall and the defenders of the Hill of Sorcery.

From the training area, it was right to the first, second, third, and fourth gate, left to the fifth, right to the sixth and seventh, then left to the small door that led outside at the back corner of the fortress. That door was the only way out other than the front gate, which was guarded by fifty orcs, both inside and out. All of the windows were either too high or barred, which made escaping that way impossible.

Each gate had a set of five guards, not a problem as long as none had time to call for assistance. The two assassins had decided beforehand that Legolas would take out three of the guards while Ciaran killed the other two. The elf was faster than his mentor, and that extra speed could be enough to keep them alive and undetected for as long as possible.

The two were silent as they moved. Stealth was their ally now. They kept to the numerous shadows cast by the sparse torches, soundless and unseen, as the first gate came into sight. They swept down on the orcs like spirits of death. Legolas struck thrice, Ciaran twice, and the first five guards lay dead. The man grabbed the key from the leading orc's belt and unlocked the gate before shutting it behind them. Then, still silent, they moved on.

The next six gates were dealt with just as quickly, the assassins striking before the orcs knew they were there. But as they approached the seventh, a shout went up from far behind them.

"They're dead!" an orc screamed in the distance, an enemy finally stumbling upon the two assassins' handiwork.

Instantly, the orcs at the gate were on guard, tense as they peered into the shadows suspiciously. The head guard of the gate turned to his fellow, barking out an order.

"You! Go see what 'e's yellin' about!"

The orc grunt nodded, opening the gate and stepping through. Ciaran cut him down, Legolas silencing two others with small throwing knives. He struck the leader in the throat, making him gasp for air, before slamming the orc's head into the stone wall. A scream ripped through the air and Legolas spun towards the noise. Ciaran cursed softly as he dispatched of the screamer, beckoning to Legolas.

"In here."

The two dashed down the hall, sliding into an empty storeroom as orcs thundered down the hall. The elf and man listened to their alarmed cries and explanations as they discovered their dead allies.

"There are enemies within the fortress!" an orc shouted over the resulting chaos. "Warn the inner guard!"

Legolas resisted the urge to sigh, keeping absolutely still as he and his mentor waited for the orcs to pass. The captain that was present was most likely one of the stupider orcs, not realizing that enemies were trying to get out of Dol Guldur, not in. Ciaran and Legolas waited for the orcs to recede and moved on, to the final gate.

_This is too easy..._ Legolas thought as he observed the guards that were the only things between them and the outside world. They had faced little resistance as they escaped, the guards completely surprised by their attacks. Did they truly not suspect treason from within the fortress? If not from the assassins, from _someone_ there. Not all of Sauron's followers were completely loyal, like the Men. Was Sauron and the Witch-King's holds over their pawns so unbreakable that none could rebel? Legolas knew that Mordor would collapse into nothingness if Sauron fell. Would all of the orcs die if the Dark Lord did?

Or perhaps it was the Witch-King's presence that had lulled the orcs of Dol Guldur into complacency. The Nazgûl King was a powerful sorcerer, and gave Dol Guldur much of its might with his mere presence. But now he and the other Nine were absent, and some of the darkness had lifted. Either way, there was a weakness here that could be fully exploited someday.

Legolas pushed these thoughts to the back of his mind, once more focusing on the escape. Like an owl leaping down on prey, the assassins met their final foes. A slash, a thrust, and three stabs later, it was over. Elf and man stood side by side, their enemies fallen around them.

_Too easy._ Legolas's mind warned. _Far too easy. Stay wary._

The elf stepped outside, taking a breath of fresh air and looking up at the sky. The air was cool and the sky cloudy, but he had never seen anything more wonderful in his life. In the distance, a mere fifty yards away, the forest stood tall. The shadowed trees rustled and whispered in excitement, sensing him even from afar. The elf resisted the urge to reach out and speak to the shadowed trees. He and Ciaran were not out of danger yet. They could still be seen from the windows and shot. Though it was still daytime, the grounds were as dark as twilight beneath the clouds. Legolas focused on the path ahead, his mentor watching their backs as they ran, shadows hiding within shadows. The younger assassin could feel elation grip him as freedom— true freedom— came ever-closer. As soon as they reached the treeline they were safe, able to vanish into the forest, and evade any who pursued them.

After that, Legolas was not quite sure where they were going. Personally, he wanted to travel through Middle-earth, and see all of the places Ciaran had told him about. Gondor, Rohan, the Shire, Rivendell, Lothlorien... all of it. There were so many places to explore, so many places he wanted to see... Unintentionally, Legolas let his mind wander. Ciaran's hand on his shoulder made him stiffen.

"Focus, young one." the man said gravely. "Keep your head."

Legolas caught his eye before turning back to the front, once more scanning the area for any signs of danger. Ciaran continued his watch of the back, eyes moving over the fortress intently as he searched for enemies...

It was amazing how quickly things could go wrong.

Ciaran spotted movement up the side of the fortress. An orc stood three stories up, grim and determined as he drew his bowstring back. A black-tipped, poisoned arrow strained against his bow as he aimed down at the two assassins. Before the man could speak or move in warning, the deadly shaft was released, whizzing through the air towards—

"NO!" Ciaran shouted, twisting Legolas around and shielding the elf's body with his own.

Legolas felt his mentor jerk as the arrow struck him, a gasp of pain ripping free of the man's lips. Ciaran slumped, weight falling heavily on the elf, who held the man firmly to keep him from slumping to the ground.

"Ciaran!"

The man grimaced in pain, speaking hoarsely but urgently. "Archer..."

Legolas spotted the orc. His bow was strung, aimed, and fired in a second. The orc jerked as the arrow struck him, plummeting from his perch and hitting the ground with a sickening thud. The threat gone, the elf's attention immediately turned back to his mentor, shifting him carefully to study his wound. An arrow protruded from the man's back, crimson blood contrasting sharply with the dark color of his tunic. Legolas's breathing quickened as he stared at the wound, bitter fear clenching around his heart.

"Ciaran..."

The man looked at him with pain-filled hazel eyes, a shaky smile forming on his lips. "I'm alright, Prince." he rasped, though both knew he was lying.

Despite his mind telling him the terrible truth, Legolas lifted his mentor into his arms, hurrying towards the forest. If they got to the elves— _He will not make it._— they might be able to heal him— _The wound is fatal—_ and Ciaran would be fine— _You know it's useless_. Legolas ignored fact and knowledge, emotion driving his body's movements as he ran to the trees. Ciaran's face was steadily paling, breath rasping as he struggled to draw in air.

"Legolas..."

"Don't speak."

"You need to go..."

"I'm not leaving you."

"Prince..."

"Quiet. We're not doing this."

A hollow laugh sounded from the man, tired an mirthless. "Foolish Prince—"

Ciaran grunted and tensed in Legolas's arms, back arching in pain. Legolas almost lost his grip on his mentor, and quickly lowered himself to the ground as his hold on the man weakened. The man breathed in short, shallow gasps, muscles locked as agony pierced through him.

"Listen—" the assassin gasped, gripping the elf's arm tightly. "You must... listen. _Please_."

Legolas wanted to refuse. If he did not, then Ciaran would speak, and say things that could _not_ be said. He would make requests, tell truths, and in turn openly _acknowledge_ that he was dying. The elf did not want to let him, but he could not deny his mentor. The man's hazel eyes were clouding as he looked at Legolas, the grip on the elf's arm never faltering.

Ciaran coughed, blood trickling down his chin. His lungs were filling with fluid, killing him from within. He could see the tears brimming in Legolas's violet eyes, held back only by the elf's iron will. Too quickly, darkness crept in on Ciaran's vision, Legolas's face fading into shadows. The man felt a moment of panic. He could not leave yet. He still had things to say! He could feel himself fading, the strength and pain leaving his limbs as his body went numb. Unable to see, unable to speak, Ciaran slipped into his thoughts, desperately wishing he could say what he must.

_You must be strong, Legolas. Do not let grief claim you. I know that I'm the only one you have but you must survive this. Keep your heart pure, and never falter in your path_. _There is so much you are meant to do..._ The assassin could not find the strength to push through the darkness and speak. He could not say all he wished. But he had to! There was one thing he _had_ to say, something he had never dared say before...

He felt his lips move, but his voice was distant and soft to his own ears, echoing from a far-off place. "I'm... proud of... you..." he wheezed, barely loud enough for the elf to hear. "... my son." The last word faded from Ciaran's lips and the hand grasping Legolas's arm went limp.

**LOTRLOTRLOTR**

**Translations:**

**Delorcion: Shortened version of "Delos-orch-ion" Means "Detested-orc-son" Basically my created version of "bastard"**

**A/N: Thank you for all of the lovely reviews for last chapter! **

**Did you like my fight scenes this chapter? They were difficult to write because everything happens so _fast, _you know? Legolas is an assassin. He avoids confrontation when possible and goes for killing blows first opening he sees. Speaking of which, there is a very real style of fighting that uses redirection and evasion as a tactic instead of just blocking. This is the style Legolas uses. I can't remember the name...**

**As for how Legolas and Ciaran got out so "easily" (before that last bit)... you'll find out more later. **

**About Ciaran... **

_**Me: Hmm... Legolas needs to be alone after he escapes... that means I have to kill Ciaran! **_**:'(****_ Surely my readers won't be too mad. I mean, he's only going to be there a couple chapters._**

_***A few weeks later***_

_**Me: *Posts the first chapter***_

_**Reviewers: We love Ciaran! Love him love him LOVE him! He's an awesome OC! **_**:D :D :D**

_**Me: Uh oh! **_**O_O' **

**Yeah. I might want to run and hide now.**

**Please review! All feedback is greatly cherished and appreciated!**


	4. 3: Fathers and Sons

**Chapter Three: Fathers and Sons**

_Third Age 2611 (400 years ago...)_

Legolas sobbed as he cradled Ciaran's body in his arms, weeping against his father's chest. For a long moment he lay there, pain in his heart and soul, and allowed his emotions to overcome him. Tears streamed down his cheeks in silver rivers of salt-water, his eyes stinging and chest aching as his grief broke free. He cried and wailed and shook Ciaran, begging him to _please, please wake up!_ The calculating assassin that the man had trained was momentarily gone, replaced by a scared young elf who had just lost his father.

Then he heard more orcs heading towards him. Legolas gasped once, gathered strength from his training, and brutally cut himself off from his emotions. He could not linger to grieve. He had to leave. If he remained like this, weeping over his father's cooling frame, he would be killed. And Ciaran's death would be for nothing.

Laying Ciaran gently on the ground, the elf stood and looked at the incoming orcs, his face impassive despite the still-wet tears on his face. Then, he charged. While most may have screamed their anger in a battle-cry or attacked their foes with reckless fury, Legolas was as silent as a shadow. Like a fanged snake he struck, knives burying into flesh and bone with rapid thrusts and blows. While some warriors may have drawn out the battle, Legolas did not, forsaking swordplay in exchange for swift, deadly stabs. He was water, smooth and flowing. He was air, tireless and inescapable. He was stone, detached and unbreakable. He was lightning, quick and deadly. He was fire, rearing up to strike.

Enemies fell faster than they could gather, falling before the assassin's icy, precise, calm _rage_. His cold, mechanical, almost apathetic attacks made him all the more terrifying to the orcs than any anger could be. Some turned to flee but Legolas stalked them like a lion hunting prey, cutting them down before they could reach the safety of the fortress. Not a single stab or slice missed it's mark.

His sharp eyes spotted another archer up on the fourth floor, bow strung. Quick as a blink the elf had drawn and fired, his arrow's flight halted by the orc's head. He shot three more enemies as they approached, their bodies piling up in the small doorway that had served as his escape route.

Abruptly, he ran out of enemies, his wide awareness sensing no others nearby. It was time to leave. Glaring at the black fortress behind him, Legolas ran back to Ciaran and lifted him up, taking quick strides into the trees. Instantly, the shadowed trees welcomed him.

_Daelas! Shadowleaf!_ They called, leaves rustling and limbs quivering with excitement. _You have come, Shadowleaf! You are here at last! _Their joy quickly became bitter rage as they saw what had happened to his mentor. _Who did this? _They demanded. _Who killed your heart-father?_

Legolas gently lay Ciaran down beneath a beech, the tree's limbs brushing against his shoulders and head in an attempt to comfort him. Legolas lay a hand on his mentor's shoulder, stunned by the coldness of his skin.

_One of the orcs shot him,_ he told the trees, a single tear dripping from his right eye. _I killed the one who did it._ Now that the danger had passed, the elf could feel an odd ache around his heart, a heavy emptiness settling in his chest. It was constricting and cold, sending ice through his veins and making him feel chilled and weak. He wanted to weep, but could not bring himself to shed any more tears. He just felt so _cold_.

Not noticing his discomfort, the trees hissed and thrashed, angry for once at those who worshiped the Shadow. _Evil orcs. Stupid orcs. They burn our friends and break our limbs. Nasty, nasty, evil orcs!_ For a brief moment, a few of the trees saw a flash of what the forest had looked like before the darkness had come. _They ruined us. They corrupted us._ Then the memory grew vague and those trees paused, confusion entering their voices. _All is dark because of them._

The trees became melancholic, their despair and depression pushing down on Legolas. The elf curled in on himself next to Ciaran's body, unable to pull breathe into his lungs. The chill was spreading outward, creeping into his limbs. He had never felt such _cold_ before, not even when encountering the darkest of powers in Dol Guldur. Legolas winced, pressing a hand to his chest. What was this pain?

The oak he lay beneath touched his head with a long branch, melancholy vanishing in the wake of concern. _Shadowleaf? What ails you?_

_My chest_, he gasped. _It hurts._ He knew he was not wounded or poisoned. He had not been struck and had not breathed or ingested any unusual substances. There was no reason for him to feel like this. He thought hard, trying to come up with an answer, even going through the human illnesses Ciaran had told him of. _Ciaran..._

The thought of his mentor sent another bolt of pain through his chest, blunt yet sharp as a blade. It was then that Legolas realized what he was experiencing. Elven grief. This pain was the wound upon his heart from losing Ciaran. It was a hole in his soul, a piece of himself ripped away by his father's passing. It was in that instant that Legolas understood why his kin did not become attached to mortals. It hurt too much when they inevitably died.

Memories of Ciaran ran through his mind as clearly as the day he had lived them. The elf could see his face with a rare smile. He could feel the man's fatherly embrace as a much younger Legolas ran into his room, crying after nightmares. He could hear his voice, calm and strong, encouraging him as he tried to shoot a bow for the first time...

The elf curled up as tightly as he could, the tears breaking free and trickling down his cold cheeks. He clutched at the earth beside him, fingers scraping through the dirt, as the grief crushed his heart more and more. He could not hear the shadowed trees worried shouts, or feel their quick frustration and fear when he did not respond. He was lost in a sea of emotions, pain, joy, love, and grief warring within him. He had never experienced cold before, but this chill had to be colder than anything a mortal could withstand. Legolas found that he could not breathe because of it, feeling light-headed, dizzy, and tired. Suddenly, he just wanted to sleep... and not wake up.

_No!_

Legolas gasped and forced himself to uncurl, rising to his hand and knees with his fingers digging into the earth. Weakness had been taken over by shame and shock, the elf forcing himself out of the hole he had fallen in through pure will. How could he think about giving up? How could he think about fading? Ciaran had died for him, and losing himself to grief would make his death be for nothing.

The elf gritted his teeth, pushing back the horde of memories that had pushed him so deeply into mourning. He dare not allow himself such overwhelming emotional weakness. Dol Guldur was still close, with danger all around. If he mourned now, here, the orcs could find him. Sinking into elven grief could very well lead to his death.

Legolas _would_ mourn— he had to— but he could not let grief take him. If he allowed himself to experience the full capabilities of elven grief, he would fade. He knew he would. He could not allow that to happen. He had to live for Ciaran, who had died to protect him and to make sure he would be free. He was free... but why did freedom have to come at such a price?

Legolas stood slowly, every part of him aching but not as badly as before. Once more, he picked up Ciaran, carrying his mentor deeper into the forest. Every few moments, he would glance behind him at the still-visible fortress, watching as it faded into the distance. Around him, the forest began to change, growing slightly less dark with every few steps. It was still dark, the trees still shadowed, but noticeably lighter than it had been. At least, to Legolas it was. As he walked in silence, carrying his mentor's body, he had no idea where he was headed. All he knew was he needed to put Ciaran to rest.

Unknown to the elf, the shadowed trees behind him spoke to one another, a message passing from consciousness to consciousness as the trees conversed. The message was short, only two sentences, but would cause a reaction none would ever have expected.

_The orcs are evil. They wish to harm Daelas. _The trees told each other. _The orcs are evil. They wish to harm our Shadowleaf._

The trees knew Daelas, though they had never met him before this day. Yet for years they had heard him speaking to their kin in Dol Guldur. Through that oak tree they listened and whispered to the elf, teaching him their speech and telling him of things in the outside world. The shadowed trees, usually moody and easily angered, were almost calm when Daelas spoke to them. They were almost content. And they almost remembered what they had once been.

Despite many elves' claims that the trees on Dol Guldur's side of the forest were evil, in truth they were not. They were merely lost, afraid, and alone, the Shadow squeezing the life and joy from their limbs. But Daelas helped them regain bits of themselves. He helped them remember that not all was dark in the world. He spoke to them without fear, and listened to the voices that had been ignored and suppressed for so long. These simple things, things Legolas cherished yet did not fully understand the impact of, were enough for the shadowed trees to care for him. Not only care, but give him their loyalty and protection.

The shadowed trees were— by the nature forced upon them— on the side of Sauron. At least, they were because they had no other choice. They had no reason for another choice. But then their Shadowleaf came along, and helped them remember things they had forgotten. Now the trees saw they had a choice. In their minds, the optional sides they could join were now two instead of one. There were the orcs and the servants of Sauron, and then there was Shadowleaf. Though Legolas had had a great influence on the trees, the thought of allying themselves with the too-bright-painful-glowing elves had never come into their mind.

For many years the shadowed trees had been content to let the orcs roam beneath their boughs and wreak havoc. But now they had killed Daelas's heart-father, and wished to kill Shadowleaf. They were Daelas's _enemies_. That changed everything.

_We will protect Daelas._ The shadowed trees thought vehemently. _None shall harm our Shadowleaf!_

If the orcs were Daelas's enemies, then they were the darkened trees' enemies as well!

LOTRLOTRLOTR

The Witch-King of Angmar was angry. No, he was more than angry. He was frustrated, humiliated, and swore he would behead the next orc to come to him with bad news. The Ringwraith stood by the window of his room, staring down at the distant orcs as they pulled bodies into a pile and burned them. After successfully awakening Minas Morgul's power, the Nazgûl Lord and his kin had returned to Dol Guldur... to find the fortress in a state of disarray.

The two assassins, the Elf and the Man, had betrayed him.

During the test of Legolas Thranduilion, the two had escaped the fortress, killing any orcs that got in their way. Over a hundred were dead, thirty Berserkers, thirty-five guards, and over forty other orcs who had watched the elf's match, including Captain Grihtz.

How had the two managed to remain light and hide it while within the Hill of Sorcery? It should be impossible. Then again, the Touch of Death was one of the best in his trade, excelling in protection against magic. He had taught all of his skills to his apprentice, this the Witch-King knew. That was why he had hired Ciaran to teach the elfling. Many assassins neglected in learning things other than deception and killing. Ciaran was a rare master of all things to do with assassination, and had seemed to be swayed to the Enemy's side. But that loyalty had been nothing but farce, and now the Witch-King had helped create an assassin, a _weapon_, that would be used against _him_.

Able to hide in the shadows, kill scores of orcs on his own, and was immune or able to hide from the darkest of powers... Legolas Thranduilion was _dangerous_. Actually, dangerous did not even begin to describe him. He was a nightmare, and could be a serious threat to the Enemy if he joined with the Free People. But would he? The Free People of Middle-earth, especially Men, were known to fear and shun those with abilities that scared them. An assassin-elf would fall far within the category of "fear", even to his allies.

Even the elves might reject him. He was an elf, but he did not show his inner light, and whose eyes were decidedly unnatural. Due to their inability to change, many of the older elves— like Galadriel— might not accept him. The Witch-King hoped so. By himself, Legolas was dangerous and deadly. While allied with the Free People, with knowledge of the Enemy no others had, he could make much of Sauron's work crumble.

But that was only if Legolas sought out potential allies. While deadly and dangerous, the elf was also naive and uncertain. He had just lost his mentor— the only person he had— just after stepping out into the world. It was unlikely Legolas would reveal himself to his kin. While Ciaran was knowledgeable of elves and their ways, he would not have enough information for Legolas to feel comfortable living with them so soon. Most likely the assassin would remain in the forest or mingle among the humans.

If Ciaran were there to show him the world, he would go with his mentor to wherever the man wished. But Ciaran was not there. He was dead. It would take a while for Legolas to show himself to his own kin. One did not simply walk into an elven realm and introduce oneself, after all.

The Witch-King's thoughts were interrupted by his door banging open. An Orc Captain hurried in, armor askew with bits of twig and leaves stuck in the joints and his hair. The Ringwraith's curiosity overcame his annoyance and he refrained from decapitating the idiot for barging into his room.

He glared at the orc with fiery eyes, freezing him in place. "Report."

"My Lord, the trees are attacking us whenever we set foot within the forest." the Orc Captain growled. "I've lost forty soldiers to them!"

Of all the things the Witch-King had been expecting to hear, that was the last. "The shadowed trees have turned against us?"

"Yes, my Lord." the orc said.

The Nazgûl Lord rose to his feet, striding forward until he was face-to-face with his subordinate. The orc tensed but did not move, caught by the Witch-King's eyes like a mouse was frozen by a snake's. His chin jerked up the slightest bit, annoying the already irritated Ringwraith. He wanted fear, not courage.

"I am greatly displeased." the Nazgûl Lord snarled. "_Greatly _displeased."

The Orc Captain kept his silence, knowing any response would not be taken well. With a hiss of disgust the Witch-King turned away from his subordinate, glaring out the window at the traitorous shadowed trees.

So much of their work had been undone in a single day. Not only had the Shadow lost a deadly assassin, but the shadowed trees had chosen to join his side! The Ringwraith decided it would have been much for gratifying to use the Elf-Prince as a hostage to force his father into submission. While it was extremely satisfying to see the Elvenking fading in grief, the allure had been lost now that Legolas had escaped...

The Witch-King paused mid-step, a sudden idea forming in his mind. He studied the orc, gauging him, noting that despite his nerves he stood impassive and strong. The Ringwraith circled the Orc Captain like a shark scenting blood, studying him and pinning him in place with the power of his eyes. Finally halting in front of the orc, he leaned forward until they were face-to-face once more.

"Are you willing to die in the name of Sauron?" the Witch-King hissed.

The Orc Captain nodded without hesitation. "Yes, my Lord."

If the Witch-King had had a face in the physical realm, he would have been smiling. "Then I have a special task for you."

Perhaps something from all this could be used to their advantage after all.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

Thranduil worked methodically at the pile of papers on his desk, signing the documents he grabbed without really looking at them. Beside him sat Barhad, his fourth child and third son, working quietly at his side. Sometimes the third Prince of Mirkwood would point out something about the document he held, telling his father of its contents in more detail but other than that, it was silent.

Unlike with his other children, Thranduil did not feel like the silence between him and Barhad was forced or accusing. Barhad was merely a quiet type of elf, scholarly and content to sit reading scrolls while others sparred. He was by no means shy or meek, but was level-headed and calm, the voice of steady reason whenever reckless emotions ran high. Though he was young compared to many elves, the third Prince was wise beyond his years, and would most likely become one of Aglar's advisers if he ever took the throne.

Thranduil winced at the path his thoughts had taken. If Aglar ever became King, that meant Thranduil was dead or had sailed. Since the Elvenking would never sail while the Shadow still had a hold over Mirkwood, his death would be the most likely reason for the Crown Prince to ascend the throne. Death through fading, more like it.

"Ada?"

Barhad's questioning voice interrupted Thranduil's brooding thoughts. The Elvenking looked up at his son, jumping slightly at the sight of Tollui, one of his advisers, who was standing beside the desk. He had not even noticed when the elf entered the study.

"Tollui. Do you need anything?" Thranduil asked politely, hiding his surprise as best he could.

The adviser's brow creased slightly in worry, but other than that he did not show any concern for the Elvenking's distraction. "Yes. The council was wondering when we were going to hold the meeting on the upcoming Summer Festival. The Sindar from outlying villages want spirits to be available at the festival but the Silvans wish to stick to tradition."

Thranduil sighed, running a hand through his long golden hair. "Yes, yes. I remember..." He trailed off, gazing into the distance with a blank expression on his face.

Tollui waited a long moment before speaking again. "My Lord?"

Thranduil blinked, blue eyes focusing. "Yes?"

"The meeting?" the adviser prompted.

"Oh. Yes. Tell them we will meet tomorrow and discuss it." the Elvenking said hurriedly, though his voice was heavy with exhaustion.

Tollui studied his King as discreetly as he could. Thranduil's face was pale and drawn, dark circles etched deeply under his eyes. He was shockingly thin, the bones obvious under his skin. While able to maintain a visage of strength in front of his councilors and foreigners, the Elvenking's ruse vanished when he was alone or with only a few others, his agony and weakness showing as terribly as a gaping wound.

"It's rather stuffy in here, and I see you've been working for a while. Perhaps you would like to join me for some fresh air, my Lord?" the adviser offered cautiously, looking at the pile of scrolls and documents that still needed attending. "Just a short ride in the surrounding forest?"

Thranduil looked ready to refuse, his mouth opening to voice his protest. Barhad intervened before his father could speak. "I think that would a ride would be wonderful."

The scholarly Prince looked at the Elvenking with an expression that might have been hopeful, except for the worry Thranduil could see in his son's eyes. The Elvenking went into thought, trying to remember the last time he had gone outside of the palace for a reason other than duty and trade. It had been the day Luineth had died, and when Legolas was taken. Exactly eighty years ago today. The Sindar shut his eyes tightly, wincing as the ever-familiar pain ripped through his chest. How could they want to ride out today? Today, of all days, on the anniversary of Luineth's death?

Despite this, a small part of Thranduil wanted to see the trees, and smell fresh air outside the palace walls. He had been trapped inside for so long, the last meeting he attended being in Lake-Town sixty years ago. Luineth would be upset with him, for neglecting the trees for so many years. And the more he thought about it, the more the Elvenking realized he missed being outdoors.

Thranduil nodded in weary consent. "If _you_ want to go outside, my nature-hating son, I suppose that we _have_ been in here to long," the Elvenking said.

Barhad relaxed, an almost happy but small smile appearing on his face. "I don't hate nature, Ada. I just like books more than trees."

"And you call yourself a Wood-Elf," Tollui teased, then went to order the stablemen to get their horses ready.

An hour later, Thranduil, Barhad, Tollui, and seven guards galloped out of the palace gates, making their way down the road that carved its way through the forest. The Elvenking did not pay attention to where they were going, absorbed by the shadowed beauty of the forest.

Even the trees around the palace held hints of shadow, struggling valiantly against the darkness but slowly falling. The elves' presences helped greatly, but could only strengthen them so much. Thranduil felt a new grief in his chest, only adding to the burden of Luineth and Legolas. How had things gone so wrong? How had Greenwood the Great come to this?

_Am I failing, father?_ Thranduil asked silently. _Am I not strong enough to hold back this shadow, or is this our doomed fate?_

The ride was silent, the guards trailing respectfully behind their King while Barhad and Tollui rode at his sides. Thranduil let his horse go where he wished, following the steady path that still lay clear in the forest. He breathed in the fresh air, looked up at the bright sun... and felt no relief. The pain in his chest did not lessen. In fact, it had increased, becoming unbearable. Thranduil's vision blurred and his breathing became labored and slow. Failure, grief, and pain weighed down heavily upon him. It was all too much.

_I'm going to die,_ Thranduil realized. _There is no question about it. I'm going to die. _

He did not feel afraid or sad. He felt numb. Only numb. The Elvenking glanced sidelong at his son, who rode steadily beside him, then at his adviser who was also one of his friends.

_I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I tried..._

Thranduil was barely aware as he slipped from his horse, the stallion neighing in distress as he tried to catch his falling rider. The Elvenking hit the ground with a thud, but did not feel the impact. Muffled, frantic voices sounded around him, but he could not make out what they were saying. All he could hear was his loud, labored breathing, and the slow beating of his heart. The beat was getting slower.

Was this it? Was he finally dying?

A small part of Thranduil tried to resist the beckoning darkness, but the rest of him had given up, letting him slip away. He was too tired. He could not fight anymore. He just wanted to sleep. Thranduil could vaguely feel hands lifting him, most likely intending to set him on his horse and race back to the palace. It would be too late by then. The Sindar was already going. He was practically gone.

A sudden foreboding feeling washed over the Elvenking, waking him as efficiently as a bucket of cold water being dumped on his head. Around him, his warriors, adviser, and son tensed.

"Orcs!" the captain of the guards bellowed in warning.

The warriors' reactions were instantaneous. They formed a tight protective ring around their King and Prince, swords drawn and arrows notched into bows. Thranduil staggered to his feet, shaking the guards off and unsheathing his sword. His stance was shaky, but adrenaline pumped through his veins, keeping him upright. The reason for his alertness stood beside him, his own sword gripped in his hand. Barhad was a scholar, not a warrior. He could fight, but not skillfully enough for a battle such as this. It was true that Thranduil could barely live, and barely wanted to, but he was not about to let his son die. Even in his weakened state, the Elvenking _would_ protect his family!

Thranduil's foreboding thoughts were interrupted as the orcs broke from cover, bellowing and roaring as they bore down on the elves. The two sides met, steel clashing against steel. Thranduil counted thirty orcs, and realized that luck was with the elves and they had run into a relatively small band of enemies. Thranduil's blade locked with an orc's sword, the Elvenking gasping as his enemy pressed down on him with great strength. His legs shook and his arms felt weak, barely moving fast enough to parry another blow. The Sindar tried to get his body to move and fight but he could not. The orc's blade slammed into his again and locked, the Elvenking forced down to his knees. He could not give up! He had to fight, just a little longer. He had to fight for Barhad.

Thranduil could see his son with his back to a tree, four orcs circling the two like vultures circled carcasses. Even from his position, the Sindar could see the scholar's hand shaking. One orc struck, Barhad barely parrying the quick blow and the other three laughed. Almost distanced from his own predicament, the Elvenking stared at the orcs, at their cruel smiles and sharp swords, and how they laughed as they circled their prey. The Elvenking's eyes flicked down, and he sighted the armor that the orcs wore. They were from Dol Guldur.

For a moment, just a moment, grief became rage.

Thranduil's expression twisted into a snarl and he slashed at his opponent, hacking at him with deadly but brutal blows. Startled by the elf's abrupt shift from weak defense to enraged offense, the orc fell easily beneath his blade. The Sindar ran at the enemies around his son, the enemies who had killed his wife and taken his youngest. They would not take another son away from him!

One orc lost his head and another had been stabbed through the chest before they had realized what had happened. The other two turned to meet the new threat but the Elvenking cut them down, shrieking an ancient battle-cry of the Silvan Elves.

Invigorated by their King's sudden strength, the elves quickly dispatched of their enemies, the orcs falling to the elven blades and bows swiftly. Soon, the three-to-one odds had been turned, and one final orc— a captain based on the design of his armor and helm— lay gasping and dying on the forest floor. Grim-faced, the guard captain strode forward, intending to end the creature's life. Thranduil's order made him halt in his tracks.

"Wait. We can question him." Thranduil said. The Elvenkingstared down at the orc for a long moment and spoke, voice as firm as he could make it. "What have you done with Legolas?"

The Orc Captain stared at the elf, eyes flicking up to look at the crown of twined wood and leaves he wore. Then, the orc began to laugh. His laugh was terrible, grating and horrific, grinding against the ears of the elves almost as terribly as a Nazgûl's shriek. After laughing for a full minute, the orc looked back at Thranduil, eyes glinting with malice.

"The tree-rat child is dead." the orc sneered. "He's been dead for years." The orc stared at the golden-haired Elvenking, leering openly at the Sindar. "He was so confident that you were going to rescue him but you _never _came." the orc continued in a mock-saddened voice.

Thranduil's face grew steadily paler. "Shut up." he whispered, voice too soft for even his fellow elves to hear.

"We were able to have fun with him for days." the orc smiled, revealing crooked yellow teeth. "Screamed like a stuck pig, he did. Calling for his "Ada"."

"Shut up." Thranduil repeated, this time loud enough for all to hear. His hand was clenched, white-knuckled around his sword hilt.

The orc began to speak in a high, mockingly scared voice. ""Help me Ada. Don't let them hurt me! Please Ada, where are you? Please make them stop!" One of the men got annoyed with his shrieks. Cut out his tongue he did—"

"Shut up!" the Elvenking snarled, eyes darkening and voice shaking with rage.

The orc smirked at him, eyes glinting with cruel malice. "It was satisfying to see the hope in his eyes fade. I almost felt _bad_ for him." His voice and face revealed the lie in his words. "It took the _poor_ little tree-rat a while to realize _Ada_ wasn't coming. I saw it when he broke. Those pretty little silver-blue eyes went blank, and he _gave_ _up_. He didn't fight us anymore. It isn't any fun when they stop screaming, so we slit his throat, and watched him bleed out, writhing on the floor_—_"

"SHUT UP!" Thranduil screamed, lunging forward and stabbing the orc in the chest.

The beast laughed even as blood trickled from his mouth, mocking eyes locked with the Elvenking's pain-filled ones. "You... didn't... come..." he gasped with a smirk, and went limp.

Thranduil stood next to his dead enemy for a moment, legs trembling violently. He stared mutely at the dead orc, vision blurring with threatening tears. With a cry, he collapsed to his knees, hands pressed to his face and shoulder shaking with silent sobs. "He's gone..." he moaned. "He's gone..."

The warriors and Tollui were silent, postures stiff and eyes wide as they tried to comprehend what they had just been told. In the middle of their group, Barhad was crying silently. He wantedc to go to his father to comfort him— and to receive comfort in exchange— but he could not make his legs move. He felt like he had become stone, immovable and cold, but was somehow also ice, and would shatter like glass if touched.

In the distance, thunder boomed, covering the sounds of the Sindar's grief with a loud crescendo of noise. Thranduil looked upward, up at the dark cloudy sky, and blinked as the first drops of rain fell. Soon enough it began to pour, the ground growing muddy and wet as the drops made their way through the sparse canopy of trees.

"Are you crying, Luineth?" he whispered, as the rain drenched his long golden hair. "Are these your tears?" His shoulders shook in another sob and he bowed his head once more, the rain hiding the tears running down his face. "All these years I clung to hope. I thought that I could save him, that he would live long enough to be saved. I promised you I would rescue him. I failed. Legolas is _dead._" The father closed his eyes, weeping until his eyes stung, his own words echoing in his head.

_I failed. Legolas is dead._

_I failed. Legolas is dead._

_I failed. Legolas is __**dead**__. They killed him. Ringwraiths, Orcs, and Men. __**They**__**killed my son**__._

Before the eyes of his son, adviser, and warriors, Thranduil Oropherion changed. His eyes grew hard and cold, his back stiffened, and all joy and kindness left his face. He stood slowly, staring down at the dead orc with hatred in his gaze. He spun away from the corpse, back straight and strides commanding. He was no longer a grieving father, but a detached warrior King. When he spoke, his voice was harsh, filled with a rage and conviction no one had heard for eighty years.

"Let's go."

Two words, which might have once been said with calm command or quiet sadness, only conveyed the _order_ that they were. It was the voice Thranduil used whenever he led his people in battle, a voice that demanded that all who heard it _obeyed_. Silent, the warriors, adviser, and Prince followed the stiff-backed King into the forest.

Looking at his leader, Tollui was afraid. There was no more hope or grief in Thranduil's eyes, all thoughts hidden in the stormy blue gaze. His face was emotionless, and and the weakness in his stance was gone. His posture was stiff and strong, portraying aloofness and confidence. He looked like Thranduil, King of Mirkwood.

To the casual observer, it might seem like a good thing. In truth, it was far from good. Riding next to Tollui was the Thranduil he saw whenever foreign dignitaries came to Mirkwood, the Thranduil that needed to be the image of power and strength. The adviser had seen this mask many times before, and would not have been bothered by it... if they were in a circumstance that required the King to use it. The only people around now were trusted warriors, the adviser, and Barhad. There was no reason for Thranduil to put on his kingly mask.

Except it was not a mask. Tollui could see that, and it terrified him. Thranduil had become ice, coldness creeping into his soul so strongly that his aloof, cold, detached mask had _become_ him. The grieving husband of Luineth, hopeful father of Legolas, and struggling elf of Mirkwood was gone.

All that remained... was the Elvenking.

**LOTRLOTRLOTR**

**A/N: Thank you for all the wonderful reviews for last chapter! **

**Responses to Guest reviews:**

**To "Issy": Thank you! I can't make any promises about a reunion being "soon".**

**To "Lys": Thanks!**

**To "Guest": Yeah, I guess it was evil. Thank you!**

**Please review! Let me know what you thought of this chapter!**


	5. 4: Village By the Sea

**Chapter Four: Village by the Sea**

_Third Age 2626 (385 years ago...)_

Legolas walked leisurely amongst tall, green leaved trees. He moved over fallen leaves and through brush like a ghost, leaving no prints or trace as he passed. The elf was in a forest in north-western Eriador. His destination was a small village called Blue Harbor. It was distant but busy, a village of trade that flourished near the sea. It was one of the many places he had decided to visit since leaving Mirkwood. He had nowhere specific to go after all, and nowhere to truly call "home". The closest thing he could call "Home" was Mirkwood, and Legolas could not bring himself to return to the shadowed forest yet.

The last time Legolas had been in Mirkwood was the day he buried Ciaran. After wandering past the river that divided the most plagued part of the forest from that which was still defended by elves, the assassin had laid his father to rest beneath a large oak tree at the river's bank. He had needed no grave-marker, for the boughs of this oak were unique. They swept upward and curled about like a spiral, reaching up to the sky in a beautiful array of wood and leaves. The oak had promised the elf that it would watch over Ciaran's grave, making sure no one— be they elf, orc, or animal— stumbled upon and desecrated it. Legolas had thanked the tree and sat beside Ciaran's grave for a long while, singing songs of grief in a voice almost too soft to hear, alone in the woods except for the saddened trees.

The pain had been too much for the elf to bear. He could not bring himself to even think about exploring Mirkwood, the forest which held Dol Guldur and where Ciaran died. There were too many memories, vivid ones of Ciaran and vague ones of Legolas's mother that faded quickly and made his head ache. So the assassin had left the forest. He had not returned to Mirkwood since. Every other place had been explored, but Mirkwood had been avoided.

He had reveled at the White Towers of Minas Tirith, braved the mines of Moria, and been awed by the horsemanship of the Rohirrim. He had watched the merry hobbits of the Shire, sneaked into the Hidden Valley, and spoken with the Ents of Fangorn and the golden trees of Lothlorien, who had been quite perplexed by the elf that did not glow. Legolas remembered his first encounter with the purest trees in Middle-earth clearly two years after he left Mirkwood.

_Flashback:_

_Lothlorien was everything Legolas had imagined it would be. The forest was a brilliant mix of gold, silver, brown and green, every tree and branch seeming to glow with its own light. Even without touching them, the elf could hear the peace and contentment of the trees, their voices murmuring softly in the back of his mind. _

_He knew that if he allowed it, he could hear their words from miles away. But the assassin was afraid. He was afraid to connect with such purity and beauty. Legolas could not help but tremble as he approached the beautiful trees, staring up at the healthy boughs and bright leaves with wide eyes. Slowly, he lifted a hand, pausing a hairsbreadth away from touching the closest tree— a birch. What if the trees rejected him?_

_That terrible nagging fear that he was tainted rose up within the assassin once more, making him tremble. He kept his mental shields firmly in place, blocking out the trees' voices as much as he dared. Their murmurs brushed at the edge of his consciousness, and he could tell they had not sensed him yet. How could they not, when he stood right beside them?_

_Hesitantly, Legolas laid his hand on the smooth bark of the tree, opening up his mind to the forest. Instantly, a thousand warm voices sounded in his ears, surprised but welcoming him. The light trees' voices were so much different than those of their shadowed kin. These trees sang of the forests, earth, and stars, filling the air with melodies of beauty and grace. Legolas found himself pulled into the peace of the forest, nature's song filling him with feelings of warmth and joy. _

_Then he sensed a tiny undercurrent of worry from the trees. The elf realized that the trees of Lothlorien were all-too-aware of the lurking shadows outside their borders. The light trees were upset about the creeping darkness, and frustrated that they could not do anything except protect the elves beneath their boughs. While able to communicate with elves, the light trees could not "fight" as efficiently as their shadowed kin. They could drop boughs on enemies, shelter elves in their embraces, and warn the elves if any orcs were approaching, but they could not lash out with their limbs and kill like the shadowed trees could. Not anymore._

_The light trees knew that their power— and the power of the elves they protected— was slowly waning. The darkness threatening Middle-earth was draining them like a slow, terminal sickness. They would last for a long time yet, but they might never regain their former vitality and strength. And that terrified them. Legolas had barely comprehended all that he had discovered before a deep voice sounded in his mind._

You are a Wood-Elf_, a towering oak stated. _Only a Wood-Elf can hear our voices so clearly.

I did not mean to pry,_ Legolas said, uncertain if he had unintentionally invaded the trees' privacy by hearing their innermost feelings and thoughts._

_Deep, light, and soft chuckles echoed in his mind and ears, the trees' joy and slight amusement making his worry vanish._

Worry not, young one_, the oak tree said. _It is a pleasant surprise to meet a Wood-Elf here. We have not spoken with Wood-Elves in over three hundred years. The last time Wood-Elves came, they were too busy to stop and speak with us.

_Legolas mulled over this for a moment before speaking once more. _I am a Wood-Elf then?_ He asked cautiously._

Yes_, The oak tree said simply. _Although your aura is curious. Where is your inner glow?_  
_

_The elf shifted uncomfortably, suddenly feeling threatened and exposed. _I am hiding it.

_The tree must have noticed his sudden tension because it changed the subject. _What is your name, Wood-Elf?

_He was quiet for a long time, wariness clear in his violet eyes. _...Legolas_. He admitted at last. _My name is Legolas.

Legolas..._ the oak tree murmured softly. It's limbs twitched and swayed as it tried to recall a distant memory. It had heard that name somewhere before... _It is a pleasure to meet you, Legolas.

_The trees noticed the elf's slight twitch as the oak tree said his name, and saw when he glanced around nervously, as if checking to see no one but them was around. Through those small signs, the trees could easily see that the special elf did not want his name to be spoken freely, and perhaps did not want to be discovered. They could sense he was not an elf used to being among his own kin._

_Since he was on the side of good and truly was an elf of nature despite his lack of a glow, they would respect his wishes. The trees would not speak of him to other elves, only whispering to each other too softly for none but the most attentive Wood Elves to hear. The trees were prepared to take any precaution to protect and hide this young Prince, for they could sense that he had Royal blood. _

_The trees did not know if that was the reason Legolas did not want his elven kin to know where he was. They would not mention his bloodline even to ask him about it. This uncertainty about Legolas's reasoning meant that not even the Wood Elves should hear his real name. But what should they call their Greenleaf? What should they name the one who desired to remain hidden? _

_Hidden..._

Esgal_, the trees whispered, voices softer than the wind. _We shall call him Esgal.

_Legolas heard their whispers but did not speak, accepting the name. Being called "Hidden" was all right with him. He did not want his real name to be spoken openly, even by the golden trees. It was better that the elves who resided in Lothlorien only heard vague whispers of "Esgal" rather than "Legolas". "Hidden" could be passed off as the trees speaking of something other than a person. "Greenleaf" was more likely to be seen as a name, and a name meant an elf was there, in the forest. _

_Legolas did not want to encounter his elven kin. Not now, and not any time soon. He was not comfortable with the thought of meeting his own kind. Not yet. He had to know more things about the world— and himself— first._

_Flashback end._

Legolas had explored the forest as thoroughly as he dared during the seven times he had visited it. Once he had gone close enough to the home of the Lord and Lady of the Light to see the two elves standing guard over the city. He had quickly surmised that the two were either close friends or brothers as their quiet teasing and joyful conversations reached his sensitive ears. The elves seemed friendly, open, and light, yet Legolas still could not bring himself to go any closer or reveal himself to them.

He journeyed through Rivendell with the same caution. The realm was just as peaceful and beautiful as Lothlorien, the elves as joyful as their kin. Legolas could not help but feel happy and slightly angry at these elves, who were safe while Mirkwood struggled against Dol Guldur and the darkness. Still, he decided that it was worth fighting the shadows so that others could live in peace. He just hoped it would last.

Although Legolas avoided elven company, he was not without interactions with others. The assassin would often travel to smaller human settlements, like Bree, with the occasional visit to larger ones. Large cities were only entered by sneaking in. Known by the name "Brian", in honor of Ciaran's son, Legolas could easily find the odd job in villages, from helping on farms or in bars to killing orcs and Wargs that plagued the area. Legolas was unsure whether the villagers he encountered knew he was an elf. He doubted it. Most likely they believed he was a Ranger.

He wore a cloak of mottled green and brown, which made him blend easily into the colors of the forest. His hood was always up, covering his hair and ears, and a cloth covered his face so that only his violet eyes were showing. He wore his bow and elven daggers openly, but had an assortment of other weapons on his person, hidden skillfully so that only the most thorough search would uncover them.

Abruptly, the soft forest air was replaced by a breeze that carried the smell of salt. Legolas halted in his walking, turning to his left where the unexpected wind had come from. The elf turned, abandoning his previous path ad he moved through a thick patch of tall bushes. His path now cleared of foliage he paused, breath catching in his throat. A few steps in front of him the land ended, swooping down into a steep cliff. And at the bottom of that cliff... was the sea.

The sea was a giant basin of water, going further than the eye could see. Its blue waves struck against the cliff with great strength and might, sending spray and whitish foam flying into the air. The sun's light shimmered on the water, sparkling and rippling like a thousand gentle lighting bolts dancing in a deep blue sky. Gulls flew overhead, calling out to each other shrilly as they soared over the churning waves. The elf stared at the sea for the longest time, breath taken by the beauty and awe of the ocean. He breathed in the salty air, listened to the gulls calls, and watched the waves beat rhythmically against the cliff face.

_The sea is beautiful,_ he thought, awed.

For a moment longer Legolas watched it. Then he turned away. Unaware of the sea-longing that should have claimed him, unknowingly protected by the mental shields he had in place, Legolas continued on towards his destination.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

Legolas had heard many things about the small trading town called Blue Harbor. He heard that it was so friendly that there were no guards, anywhere. He heard that even Southrons and Easterlings would be welcome without question. He had been informed it was a happy, cheerful little town that happened to be quite wealthy and successful.

The town he came upon was anything but.

As per habit, Legolas stuck to the shadows and observed the gate that was the only entrance to the town. Well, it was the only entrance for most people. Two men stood guard outside the wooden gate, swords worn openly and scowls on their faces. Legolas studied them with a trained eye, not liking what he saw. The two men were muscular and mean-looking, glaring menacingly at any travelers who approached and fingering their swords threateningly. With a glance, the elf could see the guards were used to pushing people around.

_That is not the warm welcome I had been told to expect,_ Legolas mused. _Perhaps remaining hidden would be best._

The elf circled around to the side of the town, studying the tall wooden wall for a moment before running at it. With casual ease he leapt halfway up the wall, finding grips and leverage in the seemingly smooth wood as he swiftly climbed the rest of the way. Reaching the top, he avoided the stakes on top of the wall by flipping over them, landing softly in an empty alleyway. Straightening his cloak and pulling up his hood, Legolas walked into the main street.

His drawn hood did not gain him a second glance as rain began to pour from the sky. He discreetly began to observe the people around as he wandered, looking like a man who knew where he was headed. The villagers' moods were surprising. Unlike other trading villages, which bustled with cheerful activity, this was was nearly silent.

The buildings were worn and old, many crumbling and looking like they needed to be torn down. The streets were cracked, more mud than cobblestone, and had the sharp tinge of unhealthiness. The shops were shadowed and dim, old, faded signs hanging from rusted chains. It looked more like a ghost town than a trading village. The people were hardly better.

The villagers avoided each other as they went about their business, not stopping to talk or interacting with those they passed in any way. They only went to the store they desired, bought what they needed, and hurried away. It might have been the pouring rain that caused such a dour mood, but Legolas had a feeling that the weather was not to blame. People scurried about like terrified mice, heads down while they cast suspicious glances at each other.

_They are afraid,_ Legolas thought. _Why?_ The elf considered ways he could gain information but paused mid-thought. _Why am I even getting involved? Why these humans were afraid has nothing to do with me._

Yet he could not deny that he wanted to help them. Not every problem in the world involved orcs and battles, and the elf could not bring himself to not care about this many people's welfare. That was just who he was.

Ciaran always said that Legolas was too compassionate and caring, trying to fix things that were not his duty to fix. When a much younger Legolas had asked how he could fix anything in Dol Guldur, his mentor had softly chuckled and said "You fixed me." Because of this piece of his character, Legolas did not know whether he hunted and slayed orcs for vengeance for Ciaran in a personal war against Sauron or because he wanted to protect the Free People of Middle-earth by killing the monsters. Either way, the assassin was finding himself getting involved in something that had nothing to do with him.

Giving in to his nature, Legolas found his way to the town's tavern. Taverns were always good places to start looking for information. Men's tongues were always loosened by ale and their voices carried in the small confines of the bar, easy enough for elven ears to hear even if they lowered their voices. The elf ordered a tankard and sat in a shadowy corner, able to see and observe the entire room.

There were twenty patrons in the tavern, including farmers, tradesmen, fishermen, and a couple foreigners. "Foreign" meaning that they were not from the town. Those who were not natives to Blue Harbor were rather shifty-eyed and wary, glancing around and nursing their drink with slight hesitance as they tried to take in the new sights around them. Legolas took small sips from his tankard, the alcohol not affecting him in the least— he could not get the slightest bit drunk— listening to the other patrons.

"—_wife just had a baby. Screaming little thing he is. The tyke's up all night bawling. I haven't had a blink of sleep in weeks."_

"_Of course he's crying. He's a baby. That's what they—"_

"—_can't understand why she's marrying him. He's a ruddy stable-boy! A _stable-boy_! Surely she can do better—"_

"—_tell the truth I'm nervous about how this is going to affect my business. We all know that Drust is a dangerous man. Once the old man dies and his son becomes mayor, this town's gonna become even more of a hell than it already is."_

And there it was. Legolas focused on this conversation, interest piqued.

"_Quiet, Abelio."_ a second male voice whispered, though the assassin could still hear them clearly. _"Drust has ears everywhere."_

The first man— Abelio— scoffed angrily._ "Of course he does. Ever since Mayor Morcant got sick, little Drust has brought back this town's dark ages. I thought things were going good after the mayor had a change of heart and became less... corrupted."_

"_He lowered the taxes, lifted the guards, and made this an honorable city," _the second man said sadly._ "My grandfather told me about that."_

"_But now Morcant is dying," _Abelio said in a soft and foreboding tone. _"Drust has already hired those thugs he calls guards. It will only become worse when Morcant dies."_

"_Why can't we just arrest Drust?" the second man whispered. "Everyone knows he's ordering people's deaths and that his thugs threaten people. Hell, he's raised the taxes past the legal limit and he's been poisoning his father!"_

"_Hush!" _It was Abelio's turn to shush his friend._ "Do not speak of that. It's dangerous."_

"_Everyone knows it." _the second man muttered, almost sulkily.

"_Yes. But there's no proof of Drust's misdeeds. He's too sneaky and underhanded." _Abelio sighed, almost too soft for Legolas to hear. _"We'll just have to wait it out. If there's one thing this town is good at, it's surviving."_

The assassin had heard enough. Finishing his tankard, he paid the barman and left the tavern, reentering the pouring rain. The large building in the center of the village was obviously the mayor's house. That was his next stop. Legolas stayed with the crowds as far as the edge of the marketplace, then vanished into the shadows.

He approached the house— more like a small palace— from the east side, eyebrows quirking upward at the sight of the tall stone wall that surrounded the place. It looked like it belonged in a large city, like Minas Tirith, to hold against large armies. Legolas had the sinking feeling that that was what this wall was for. To keep armies— both enemies and rebelling villagers— at bay. Along with that, it would also allow the palace to remain standing while the rest of the village burned. To say the least, the elf was liking this town less and less.

The elf scaled the stone wall without any trouble— the guards were idiots— landing neatly in a beautiful garden. Any other time, Legolas might have been happy to see such a wonderful place of nature in a human village, but now he was just angry. Of course the inhabitants of the castle could afford luxuries while their people starved.

The elf looked up at the castle, picking a window to enter through at random. It was on the second floor, far from any of the lights that revealed that people were inside. He climbed the wall— Were the builders unaware of siege-defense or was he just that skilled?— stopping outside the window. A quick scan of the dark inside showed no one was there. Unsheathing a thin blade, he slipped it between the space in the panes and lifted the lock, entering the palace. His feet made no noise as he crossed the room, halting at the door and listening for any passing people outside. Hearing none, he exited, glancing around the sparsely candle-lit hallway.

A moment later he had slipped back into the shadows cast by an indented door frame, watching two guards walk by. After a moment's thought he began to follow them, listening in as he tried to discern where in the castle they were headed.

"I don't see why Lord Drust has us patrolling here of all places," one of the guards was complaining. "No one's in this section except the old man."

The other guard chuckled, smirking at his partner. "Maybe our Lord expects an assassin to come finish him off. How terrible that would be!"

They both laughed with cruel amusement, not caring in the least about their Lord's father's well-being. Legolas glowered at them from the shadows, enraged by their blatant disrespect to a man who was their elder. The guards halted outside a simple wooden door on the far side of the hallway, the complaining one opening it, looking inside, and shutting it.

"Still asleep. Fool. I hope he doesn't wake up."

With that the two left, but their shadowy stalker did not follow. The elf stood outside the simple door, staring at it. He wondered who the "old man" was. Could it be Morcant, or was it someone else? Curiosity getting the better of him, the elf entered the room,

Legolas found himself staring at a man lying in a bed. The man was old, his face carrying more wrinkles than there were stars in the sky. His eyes were barely visible beneath thick white eyebrows, his back was hunched terribly and his beard reached the middle of his stomach. His face was pale and sickly, his skin almost blending into the white sheets that covered him. Legolas stared at him, unable to look away. If Ciaran had lived, would he have eventually looked like this? Withered, pale and _old_?

Old age was one thing the elf could not fully comprehend. While elves grew more beautiful with age, men, dwarves, and hobbits slowly wither away. They lose their strength, their minds, and after a few decades, their lives. Mortality was the Gift of men... but so many men feared it. Legolas feared it. It hurt to think that all mortals he befriended would eventually wither like this and die. Disturbed, Legolas turned to leave the room, hand resting on the door. Behind him, the old man stirred, waking, and peered at the blurry shape in the shadows.

"Ciaran?"

Legolas froze, mind going blank. _What?!_

"Ciaran?" the man repeated hopefully, voice raspy and shaking. "Is that you?"

Unsure of what to do or say, Legolas remained still and silent, not turning to look at the man.

Seeing this as a confirmation that he was Ciaran— How did the old man know his mentor?— the man spoke. "It's been a while. Over a hundred years, in fact... since you left. Since I— Since I forced you to leave." The old man coughed and Legolas found himself stepping forward, only to freeze again as the old man's half-blind eyes focused on him. "I'm glad you're back. I'm so happy you came back to me... before the end. I didn't think you would after what I said and did."

Legolas still did not speak. He could not leave, and let the old man think Ciaran was still angry at him. He also could not tell the man that he was not Ciaran, and that the assassin was dead. The more Legolas studied the old man, the more he noticed something familiar about him.

"I managed to do it, you know." the old man whispered. " I changed myself and this village. I made it an honorable, lovely place. Just like you asked. I became a man worthy of being mayor."

As Legolas looked into faded hazel eyes, he quickly realized three things. One: This was the mayor, Morcant. Two: This man was Ciaran's father. Which led to three: Drust was Ciaran's _older brother_?! The elf had been told stories of Ciaran's youth and family, and how his father and brother were... shady men. He also knew of every trial and test the man's father had put him through while training him to be an assassin. "Training me to take out his enemies," Ciaran had said. But the assassin had never said any names. He did not tell Legolas what town he came from, or the names of his father and brother. No, instead he had focused on Eithne and Brian, and the happiness he experienced there. So this... was _very_ unexpected.

To say Legolas was stunned was an understatement. Here he was, in a shady town that happened to be Ciaran's birth-town, talking to the man who ruthlessly trained his mentor-turned father, apparently had a change of heart, and happened to be Legolas's adopted grandfather. If the elf had been weaker he might have needed to sit down. As it was, he stood absolutely still as Morcant continued to speak, panting from the effort.

"My point is.. I just wanted to say... I'm sorry." the man whispered. Tears shone in his deep and faded hazel eyes. "I'm so, _so_ sorry, Ciaran. I'm sorry for what I did to you, I'm sorry that I rejected you and tried to hurt that Eithne girl, I'm sorry I failed you, I'm _sorry_."

His voice held pained grief Legolas could not fully comprehend. The cruel man Ciaran had described in his stories was nowhere to be found. Instead, the elf was faced with a grieving man who had too many regrets in his life and not enough time to fix them. Looking at him, the assassin felt nothing but sadness. Ciaran was not around to forgive his father... so it was up to Legolas to do it in his place.

"I forgive you." Legolas said softly, but loud enough for the old man to hear.

Morcant looked at him with half-blind eyes, the stress lines on his face softening and a relieved smile forming on his lips. "Thank you... my son." His eyes closed, and he breathed his last.

Unsure of what to do, conflicted unable to bring himself to grieve, the assassin left. He made it four steps before he stopped, staring blankly at the wall. After a moment's thought he smirked, laughing at the irony. _I'm off to prove my tyrant of an "uncle" murdered my "grandfather",_ Legolas thought without an ounce of humor. _Let's get to it then._

LOTRLOTRLOTR

Legolas had never seen a more disgusting human than Drust. The man was not ugly or disfigured, mind. His ugliness came from within. Indeed, Drust could be seen as handsome by many maids, with his jet black hair, neat jawline and pretty brown eyes. But it took only a moment for Legolas to spot the cruelty in those seemingly-kind chocolate orbs. After years of being surrounded by such cold gazes, they were easy to spot for the elf. Added to the fact that the man absolutely _seeped_ arrogance, apathy, and mercilessness like a a noxious fog and the assassin did not like him one bit.

The man was in what could be called the throne room, standing before the throne— Yes, he had a _throne_. You would think he was the leader of a country! Arrogant fool.— and looking down his nose at a quivering servant.

"He is dead?" Drust asked in a deep, resonating voice that commanded obedience _or else_.

"Y-Yes My Lord." the servant whimpered. "Mayor Morcant passed away."

Drust turned away from the servant so that he could not see his smirk. In his vantage point in the rafters however, Legolas did. "It's about time," the man said. "Stubborn bastard."

Legolas may not like Morcant for what he did to Ciaran, but he still felt the urge to punch his "uncle" in the face. He resisted the urge. Barely.

"Father's position has been left to me now," Drust said coolly. "All of his power and privileges are mine..." The smirk became a triumphant smile. "For the first time since my dear brother rebelled and ran away, this city will be right again! I will be the one in power, and all shall fear me, like they once did my father!" A disgusted look came over Drust's features, his smirk falling into a scowl. "Father grew soft in his old age. He actually lowered the taxes that the peasants had to pay and gave them _rights_. He made black market deals illegal, and removed the guards from throughout the city. All because dear Ciaran disagreed with him and fled. Good riddance I say."

Legolas glared darkly at Drust from his vantage point, not liking his tone. The poor servant was merely nodding along with everything his master said, wanting nothing more than to be dismissed and wondering why the new mayor was saying all this to _him_. The assassin hiding in the shadows felt very bad for the terrified man.

"Still, all of that training and skill, wasted!" Drust spat. "I always knew Ciaran would be a failure. A flawed, naive bastard, that's what he was."

Legolas's violet eyes narrowed dangerously. He flexed his forearm, a small, lethal throwing dagger slipping into his palm. For a moment he considered throwing the weapon at Drust — Only close enough to scare him. Even though he was a murderous traitor, the elf could not just kill Ciaran's brother.— but banished the idea. It was better for him to wait, gather information, then act. Drust seemed like the type to monologue his entire life story and admit all his crimes to someone who dare not tell anyone.

Sure enough, Drust began boasting. "It was amusingly easy to acquire poison to put in my father's food. I am quite good friends with the town potions master. But everyone will believe dear father died of old age. Its perfect!" The man paused in his gloating, turning to look at the trembling servant. "But why am I telling this all to you? Perhaps its because there is no one else I can tell... and kill without question."

Before his sentence was finished Legolas was moving, leaping down from his perch behind Drust and holding a dagger to his throat. The servant found himself facing a green-brown cloaked figure, his face veiled in shadows. The man spoke softly, focused on the traitorous man he held at knife-point.

"Get out of here."

The servant needed no more prodding. He fled the castle, grateful to the mysterious stranger and terrified of what Drust would do if he survived the encounter with the cloaked man. Back in the throne room, Legolas could hear Drust's heart hammering loudly in his chest, the fast, frantic beat betraying fear where his expression did not. He opened his mouth and—

"Scream for the guards and I'll slit your throat," Legolas said darkly.

Drust's mouth snapped shut. "Are you going to kill me?" the man asked in a steady voice.

While he was many negative things, a coward Drust was not. Legolas could admit that at least. "I am not an executioner, kinslayer." he said softly. "You will be tried and convicted."

Drust chuckled, a dry, mocking sound. "Oh really? And how will you get proof? I will never confess and that peasant will be too scared to tell anyone what I said."

His face hidden by his hood, the disguised elf smirked. "I don't need a confession out of you. You told me exactly where I need to go to get evidence of your crime."

The man's voice was calm, but Legolas could see that he had tensed. "You're bluffing. You will find no thing at the potions shop. My friend will not have kept records of our interactions."

"You'd be surprised." the assassin said. "Businessmen keep track of everything, even recording more under-the-table transactions. It helps them organize their goods, you see. It won't be hard to find evidence of your purchases. But before I go... there is one thing I think I need to clear up with you."

He shifted, cowled face moving close to Drust's ear. Out of the corner of his eye, the murderous new mayor caught sight of a green-brown-colored cloak. Being the man he was, and part of a town in which a lot of humans— and humans only— passed through, he jumped to the first conclusion he thought of.

_A Ranger!_ Drust thought, enraged. _He's a bloody Ranger!_

"Ciaran was a greater man than you'll ever be." Legolas hissed and knocked the man out with a swift jab to a pressure point.

The elf caught Drust before he could hit the floor, hoisting him into his throne and leaving him to "sleep". He left the castle without incident, found what he required in the potions maker's store, and left the evidence on the law enforcement chief's desk. As much as Legolas may have wanted to see the fruits of his efforts come morning, it was better for him to leave now.

Without leaving a sign that he had ever been in Blue Harbor, the elf exited the town the way he had come in, over the wall. Once in the forest he melted into the shadows cast by the night, walking deep into the forest before pausing. He leapt up into the treetops, leaning against the sturdy trunk of a tree. In the quiet of the night, he mulled over all that had happened in the past day. So much had happened. He had stumbled upon a village in need, forgiven Ciaran's father in the man's place, exposed the mayor's murderer and most likely saved the village from itself.

But now what? There were so many more places to go, so many sights to see... yet Legolas found that there was only one place he wanted to travel to now. There was one more place he should explore. Decision made, Legolas turned south-east. It was time he returned to Mirkwood.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

The next day, Drust was arrested for periodically poisoning— thus murdering— his father, the mayor. The evidence was overwhelming. Letters corresponding between Ciaran's traitorous brother and a shady potions shop— left at the law enforcement's desk before they could be destroyed— pointed all of the fingers at the deceased mayor's son. The trial was done quickly, all of the townspeople wanting the menace gone from their village. Drust and his closest cronies were tried, convicted, and sentenced to banishment from Blue Harbor and the surrounding lands. Returning meant death.

As Drust was escorted out of the village and warned to be far away by nightfall, the man seethed. He seethed with rage and thoughts of vengeance, the image of a "Ranger's" cloak stuck in his mind. Everything had been going so perfectly. His father was dead and the village was under his control at last. But that Ranger had come along and ruined everything. His life, his work, his power was all gone. All because of some wannabe-warrior from the North. A bloody _peasant_ had taken his power from him!

As he walked stiffly away from Blue Harbor, Drust's anger grew. _Curse Rangers!_ he snarled silently. _Curse them all to Hell!_

His children, his children's children, and even _their_ children would never forget that a _Ranger_ was the one who ruined their family name and Drust's perfect life. They would never forget, and they would _never _forgive. No matter how long it took, Drust's bloodline would retake Blue Harbor. And any _Rangers_ that stood in their way would pay. They would pay with their lives!

**LOTRLOTRLOTR**

**A/N: Hmm... am I hinting at something? ;) **

**IMPORTANT! READ THIS!: Before you ask, Legolas felt no sea-longing because of the mental shields he possesses. His mental protection kept him from feeling the pull of the sea. Legolas had to defend himself from Dol Guldur's corrupting power and the Witch-King's might for _eighty years_. Nothing— be it Light or Dark— will be able to affect or invade his mind and soul unless he lets it.**

**During this story, Legolas will have three aliases, depending on who is around him. It's sort of like how Aragorn is also "Strider" "Estel" and (eventually) "Elessar".**

**_Brian_: The alias Legolas uses when the people around him believe he is human, or a "human Ranger". He named himself this in honor of Ciaran's son.**

**_Esgal_ ("Hidden"): The alias Legolas uses when the people around him know he is an elf. The light trees call also him this.**

**_Daelas_ ("Shadowleaf"): The name that the shadowed trees call him.**

**A big thank you to everyone who reviewed last chapter!**

**Responses to Guest reviews:**

**To "Issy": Thank you! I do too. :'(**

**To "The Readers": Umm... I'm glad you like it? Here's the update, obviously. :)**

**To "Guest": Thank you! Look at my response to "Nightrunner144". ;)**

**To "Nightrunner144": Thanks! (Glances at all the readers reading the review replies) Uhhh... Since I don't want to openly spoil anything... here's a riddle response to your request. **

VOTE FAME BE THREATS HIT LIFE

Hints: The answer is six words. The second word starts with a "B". The first and fourth word are _the_ same.

**Good luck! If any of you do get it, feel free to say what the answer is in a review. Not everyone reads those. If you don't want to figure it out or don't want spoilers, ignore it. That's what I do. ;)**

**Ugh. This Author's Note is already so long... but I want to put this here.**

**I've had another "Random Story idea that I don't want to write" moment, a Lord of the Rings one this time. For those of you who don't know, this happens to me a lot. Plot bunnies like to sneak up on me when I don't want them to. So, along with putting this adoptable story idea on my profile, I'm putting it here as well.**

**Shattered Reality (Title is subject to change): _After a mishap with an ancient magical object, Legolas finds himself in an alternate reality, where his other self died soon after Aragorn became King. Because of his best friend's death, Aragorn became a Dark tyrant, conquering Middle-earth and hating and terrorizing all races that are not human, including elves. Legolas struggles to survive as Dark!Aragorn hunts him, seeking answers Legolas cannot provide. The situation only becomes more dangerous as Aragorn— Legolas's world's Aragorn— crosses over to the darkened world as well..._**

**If you want to adopt this story idea and write it, please PM me! This section will be deleted once the story is adopted.**

**Please review!**


	6. 5: Rising Darkness

**Chapter Five: Rising Darkness**

_Third Age 2683 (328 years ago..)_

Rain poured down from the sky in watery sheets, drenching the forest of Mirkwood below. Legolas trudged doggedly on through the mud, grimacing as wetness seeped through his boots and clothes. He should have found shelter hours ago, when the dark clouds appeared on the horizon, but had been distracted by an orc patrol. Instead of leaving them for a later time, Legolas had tracked and killed the orcs. Now he was paying the price, stuck out in the rain as he tried to make his way to more suitable shelter.

Legolas moved along at a slow pace, grumbling softly to himself as he walked through the relentless mud. Elves could walk on snow, but mud? They sunk in mud like everyone else. It was decidedly irritating. The assassin would have preferred running through the treetops, but the wood was too slick and even he might fall from the trees' limbs. The trees around him were unhappy they could not trust themselves to carry him, so they did their best to shield him from as much of the rain as they could. Their efforts helped a little, but Legolas was still drenched. The assassin had a feeling that the Valar were laughing at him right now. With a huff he pulled his cloak— at least it was somewhat waterproof— tighter around his shoulders, determined to make it through the relentless rain. Had the ocean decided to fall from the sky?

A soft sound caught Legolas's attention and he paused in his trek, glancing around. Seeing nothing, he tipped his head, listening intently. There it was again— a whimper? The elf followed the noise to a tree with risen roots, a small space open between it's trunk and the ground. He knelt to the ground, ignoring the mud, and found himself looking at a tiny red-furred shape. A fox kit.

The little animal shivered beneath the tree roots, staring at Legolas with wide, scared eyes. Its fur was sopping wet, and violent shudders revealed that it was freezing. The assassin's violet eyes softened and he sat in front of the tree roots, murmuring to the kit.

"Hello little one." he said in Sindarin. "Are you cold?"

The fox kit snuffled and tipped its head, stepping forward cautiously. Legolas waited patiently as the tiny animal moved slowly towards him, finally halting in front of his knees. The kit whined, nudging his arm, and the assassin picked it up, cradling it— him— in his arms. Even though the outside of Legolas's cloak was wet, the inside was dry, and the fox kit warmed quickly in his arms.

"Did your home flood, little one?" the elf murmured to the little animal.

The fox kit whined again and snuggled deeper into the warmth of his arms. Legolas's lips twitched in amusement as the small, fluffy tail wagged in content. He stood, the kit still in his arms and beneath his cloak, and continued walking towards shelter.

"Shelter" was a mass of giant overlapping trees, some of the biggest in Mirkwood. These trees were not quite shadowed, and the elves could still hear their voices, though they were becoming more distant and quiet to normal elves' ears. Their branches and leaves were so wide, and had so many layers, that the ground and limbs under a few levels were completely dry. Legolas could climb almost to the tops of these trees and not get wet. Also, they were in the more remote part of Mirkwood, where not even the elves usually tread. The river ran along the southern side, rapids forming a barrier between him and the darkened lands. He would be safe here.

The fox kit still in his arms, Legolas leapt up onto the lowest branch, climbing nimbly up a tree. Not a leaf rustled as he made his ascent, pausing high enough that if someone did happen to pass under the tree, they would not see him. Even though the tree knew this, it shifted its branches to better hide Legolas from below.

_Thank you, my friend_, Legolas told the tree.

It silently touched his shoulder in response, choosing not to respond verbally. Legolas hung his cloak over another branch before laying down. The fox kit made himself comfortable on the elf's chest, and both quickly fell asleep.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

The sound of rushing water woke Legolas. He sat up and saw the fox kit was standing on the edge of a branch, hackles raised. The elf peered down at the ground and gasped, staring mutely at what he saw. The river was swollen and raging, water thrashing and beating against the trees with an anger only nature could conjure. The water frothed a sickly brown as mud, dirt, and twigs were caught up in the flood, zooming downstream with terrifying speed.

Legolas knew he was safe up in the treetops, and dearly hoped no one was down on the forest floor. He picked up the fox kit, who was still alarmed, and stroked his back soothingly. The kit slowly calmed down, eyes closing as he prepared to fall asleep again. A sudden sense of unease snapped both of them awake. Legolas recognized the sickening, uneasy feeling he felt immediately.

_Orcs!_

The elf's violet eyes raked the forest floor and surrounding foliage, scanning the area for the creatures. Leaves rustled and he tensed, a confused frown crossing his face. Whatever was there was not an orc. A second later, five elves— four males, one female— burst out from the foliage, one supporting another. They scurried along the edge of the flooded river, racing towards the trees.

"Up into the trees!" one shouted, leaping up into the boughs of a spruce.

Two others quickly followed suit, leaving the injured one and his companion on the ground.

"You have to jump," the uninjured one was saying.

The other elf— he had long reddish-brown hair— lifted his head weakly before saying. "...Can't."

"Yes you can," his silver-haired companion said stubbornly. "Thimben! Help me!"

The called elf leapt back down, glancing nervously into the surrounding forest. "Fael, they're coming..."

"I know!" the silver-haired elf, Fael, snapped. "Grab his other arm."

Thimben did as he was told and together the three leapt, landing clumsily on the tree limb as the reddish-brown haired elf passed out. Fael gently lowered his companion onto the limb, glaring at the surrounding trees.

"Bows!" he commanded, and the other three conscious elves drew their weapons.

Higher in the treetops, Legolas drew his own bow, narrowing his eyes. He could see the orcs coming towards them, his eyes easily able to see them in the dark. The elves below him were tensely, arrows notched as they waited for their enemies to emerge. Fael shot first, his arrow hitting the lead orc in the shoulder. The creature howled and fell, his kin trampling him as they raced into the open. Five arrows flew straight and true but none of the Mirkwood elves noticed the extra shot, too intent on their own targets. The orcs kept flooding in— this was far larger than a patrol— and soon were firing back up at the visible elves.

Below Legolas, Fael was forced to duck as an arrow slammed into the trunk beside him. Only Legolas heard the tree's gasp of pain. As one, the elves began to target the enemy archers, picking them off as quickly as they could.

"I'm out of arrows." a blonde-haired elf reported.

A second later Thimben said, "As am I."

"We need to get out of here," Fael growled.

"We can't carry Lain through the treetops," the last elf— she had black hair— pointed out as she shot another orc.

"We're going to have to try." Fael said grimly. "Uial, Heled, cover us."

The black-haired female and blonde-haired male nodded, shooting sparingly at the orcs that were trying to climb the trees. Legolas watched worriedly as Thimben and Fael lifted Lain between them. He hesitated, crouching as he wondered if he should go down and help. He knew the forest even better than its inhabitants. Maybe he could—

A shrill battle-cry interrupted his thoughts, and a mass of elves emerged from the forest, attacking the orcs from behind. The elves perched below Legolas relaxed.

"Thank the Valar," Heled breathed.

The larger patrol of elves made quick work of the remaining orcs. Legolas watched as their leader— a silver-gold haired elf, walked to the base of the tree, glancing up at those they had rescued. "Are you all right, Fael?" he called.

"I'm fine, Megilag," Fael responded. "But Lain is injured."

A glance at the red-brown haired elf revealed his was conscious but dazed.

"Bring him down!" Megilag called. "Carefully now."

Legolas unconsciously held his breath as the injured elf and his companions descended, their perch unnervingly close to the swollen river. The hidden elf could feel the tree's tension as it prepared to catch them if they fell. He laid a hand on the oak's trunk, muscles tense as the elves grew closer to the ground. He breathed again as first Uial, then Heled, then Thimben all made it to the ground. Fael carefully handed his injured warrior to Megilag, balancing carefully on the tree limb. Movement out of the corner of Legolas's eye made him turn, and his eyes widened as an orc rose up behind Megilag. Thimben saw it at the same time as he.

"Look out!" the blonde-haired elf yelled.

Startled, Megilag jerked around to see the orc rising above him, dagger poised to stab down. As abrupt as a blink, an arrow was through the monster's throat. Megilag spun back towards the tree, looking for the source of the arrow. There was no one to be seen. The tree was empty.

This slowly registered in the Prince's mind and his eyes widened, staring at the raging river. The river that passed beneath the branch Fael had been standing on. "FAEL!" he screamed.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

Everything happened so fast. One moment Fael was reaching for his brother's hand, the next he had jerked back and plunged into the river, startled by the orc. The elf thrashed in the water, unable to tell which way was up, as he was pulled ruthlessly downstream. All he could see was murky darkness, the brownish water obscuring his vision. He slammed into something, pain exploding in his shoulder as his fingers tingled and went numb.

The water was cold, colder than anything he felt before. He could feel his limbs becoming sluggish as the chill sapped his strength. Fael's lungs felt like they were about to burst, his lack of air making his already hindered vision grow darker. He hit another hard object— a rock?— and the air was forced from his lungs, water rushing in. The Prince choked and gasped, more water entering his air-deprived body.

He could not move his limbs anymore. He could not even feel them. The blackness was creeping in, overwhelming him and he stopped struggling, limp as the raging water carried him. He was tired. So so tired. He could not fight anymore.

Why should he fight? Why should he struggle to survive against odds he could not defeat? Fael could hear his heart pounding loudly in his chest, the beat slowing... slowing... He could feel the blackness taking him. Maybe he should let it. If he did... he would see his mother and Legolas again. Fael blinked, eyes forcing themselves open after a long pause. The shadows were overcoming him. He could not see anymore.

Then, the Prince saw a light. It was a small speck, slowly growing bigger as he watched it. Intrigued, Fael reached for the light, hand drifting slowly through the water. The light was getting brighter, closer, and the silver-haired elf could see a figure in its midst. The figure floated towards him, face hidden by the light that surrounded him and was him. For a moment, Fael swore that he spotted a flash of pale blonde hair. He smiled to himself.

_Legolas..._

He could not clearly see him, but the silver-haired Prince _knew_ it was his brother. The elf reached for his brother's hand, warmth flooding through him as his younger brother took his hand. Legolas was so warm. Nice and safe and warm...

And then they were moving through the water, the light and blackness becoming a blur. Safe with his brother, more content than he had ever been, Fael let the light fade, and allowed the blackness to take him.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

Legolas burst out from the water, gasping as his head met the open air. He held the unconscious Fael more securely in his arms and swam with the raging current, only resisting enough to keep their heads above water. Most people would have tried to struggle towards the shore, but Legolas waited patiently, allowing the current to carry him and his companion down the river. Struggling would only tire himself out, and the elf knew that an opportunity for a quick escape would show itself. There! A shadowed tree stood on the bank with limbs hanging over the river.

_Help me, friend!_ Legolas called.

The tree shifted, reacting to his voice, only to cringe away as it sensed the too-bright elf Daelas carried. The tree was approaching fast, the opportunity for safety soon to be out of reach.

_I know his aura hurts but please, help!_ Legolas cried, his burden growing heavier.

The tree tensed, mustering its strength of will, and let its limbs droop over the river. Swiftly, Legolas reached up and grabbed the limb, the water pulling at him and Fael. Shaking from the close proximity of the too-bright elf, the tree lifted them both out of the water. The assassin could sense its pain. Though it was not touching the too-bright elf, Fael's presence still burned. Despite this, the tree managed to set them gently on safe ground. Once that was done, the tree shuddered and curled in on itself, echoes of pain ripping through it. Legolas touched its trunk gently.

"Thank you," he said aloud.

The tree's limb brushed against his shoulder before going still. Legolas turned to Fael, checking the other elf's pulse. It was weak and fluttery, but still there. Frowning, the assassin bit his lip. Fael had a lot of water in his lungs. If he did not get it out, the silver-haired elf would drown soon. A small yip interrupted the assassin's frantic thoughts, and he turned to see the fox kit scurrying towards him.

"How did you get here?" the elf murmured vaguely, focusing on his patient.

The tiny animal yipped again, this time louder, before letting loose a short bark.

"Kurama! There you are!" a voice called, startling Legolas.

He was on his feet in an instant in front of Fael, one of his knives clutched in his hand with the fox kit held protectively to his chest. Before him was an old man in brown robes. The moment Legolas set eyes upon him, he knew the newcomer was... eccentric. His hair was a wild bushy mess, with twigs and bird droppings matted into the gray-brown locks. Thick eyebrows bunched together as the man saw Legolas.

"Oh, hello!" he said cheerfully. "I see you found Kurama!"

The elf glanced down at the kit, then back at the odd man. "...Is he yours?"

"No, no." the man said. "He's just one of the creatures of the forest." he peered around Legolas and spotted Fael. Instantly his mood changed, his eyes growing wide. "What happened?"

"He fell into the river." Legolas said shortly. "I rescued him. His name is Fael."

The strange man bustled forward, crouching down next to the elf. "Fael. Fael... I've heard that name." He put a hand to the unconscious elf's forehead, muttering softly in a language Legolas recognized as magical.

The elf stiffened. _He's one of the Istari. Radagast the Brown?_

The man— wizard— finished his incantation and Fael coughed, water spewing from his mouth as it exited his lungs. The elf gasped, breathing deeply, before settling into a deep sleep.

"He'll be fine now," Radagast said happily. "Same spell I used when Spinky fell in the river." he rose to his feet, adjusting his hat before looking at Legolas. "I am called Radagast the Brown, the wizard introduced, confirming what Legolas already knew. "And you are?"

"Esgal."

Radagast nodded, sensing no lie, and clucked his tongue at Kurama. The fox kit leapt out of Legolas's arms, jumping up onto the wizard's shoulder. Radagast peered up at the still-raining sky, frowning.

"We haven't had rain like this in over five hundred years. Half of the forest is flooded." he glanced at the elf and nodded to Fael. "Carry your friend. You might as well stay with me until the rain stops."

"He's not my friend," Legolas said as he picked the silver-haired elf up.

Radagast rose an eyebrow at him as he walked through the mud. "Then why did you save him?"

"...Because I could. I was not about to let him die." Legolas said at last.

The wizard looked at him closely, suddenly halting in his tracks. "You are an elf." he stated.

"Yes." the elf said warily.

"You do not glow."

"Yes."

Suddenly Radagast seemed older, wiser, and more dangerous. "The other elves do not know you are here."

Legolas tensed. "That is correct."

The wizard stared at him with piercing eyes, unblinking. The assassin looked back at him, chin jerking up defensively. Then Radagast relaxed, and the eccentric animal-lover was back. "All right then. Quick, this way!"

Legolas followed the wizard through an erratic path only the brown-cloaked man could see, winding through the trees as they grew slowly darker. The elf grimaced slightly as the shadowed trees hissed at the elf he carried. The assassin shushed them in return, patiently asking them to leave the too-bright elf alone. They listened, albeit grudgingly, refraining from lashing out at Fael. Legolas frowned as spider webs began to appear around them. Surely Radagast did not live so close to a Spiders' lair?

"The Spiders don't bother me," the wizard said, answering his unasked question. "I live here because I am trying to heal the animals and trees. Many die from the sickness that the Shadow brings. I try to use my magic to heal them but... it is not enough."

Legolas glanced at him, saddened by the grief in the odd wizard's eyes. "It is a wonderful thing that you are doing for the forest,"

Radagast gave him a small smile. "Yes. I try. I'm not as powerful as Saruman or as brave as Gandalf but I do try. I'm only capable of doing little things. I can't rally armies and defeat hordes of orcs, but I can heal sick animals and assist wounded elves." He gave Fael a searching look before perking up. "Here we are!"

Radagast's home was carved in a large tree, pieces of wood representing a roof and sides attached to the giant trunk to represent an odd shack. Legolas entered the house after the wizard, lips twitching at the sight of the variety of animals that were scattered throughout the small space.

"Set him down here." Radagast said, shooing a couple rabbits off of the bed.

Seeing no animal droppings on the space, Legolas set the sleeping elf on the worn mattress.

"Sit, sit!" Radagast urged, gesturing to a chair. "I'm afraid that I don't have anything to eat or drink right now." He picked up a jar and shook it, its contents rattling. "Well, unless you like birdseed."

Legolas laughed softly. "I'll pass, thank you." He looked around the tiny hut, noting the staff up against the wall and the odd assortment of objects lined up on shelves on the wall. Everything was slightly unkempt, just like their owner. Legolas recognized a variety of animal food, along with several herbs that could be used to heal furry creatures. "You really do care about the forest," he murmured softly. "But... if you don't mind me asking... What about your mission?"

"To help defeat Sauron, you mean?" Radagast sighed, settling down in a chair. Immediately, his lap was occupied by two squirrels, a hedgehog, Kurama the fox kit, and a skunk. The wizard petted the skunk absentmindedly, eyes blank and distant. "I know that I am failing in my mission," he murmured, "But I am in love with the forests of Middle-earth, and cannot bring myself to leave." He turned to look at Legolas with serious eyes. "What about you? What is your purpose here?"

"I want to help fight the Shadow here," Legolas admitted. "I hunt orcs and Spiders that the other elves miss or dare not."

"Hmm." Radagast hummed vaguely. "Why don't you want your kin to know about you? They would be very grateful if they knew about their secret guardian."

The assassin looked at him, his violet eyes glowing in the gloom. "You are accepting. They might not be. I am an elf that does not glow, can speak to shadowed trees, and has training they might find... questionable. I am not like other elves."

"You fear rejection," Radagast said wisely. "You fear that no matter what you do, they will not accept you, and might even fear you." He hesitated a moment before continuing. "I cannot honestly say that the elves would welcome you with open arms. A tragedy has made them wary of strangers." His eyes grew sad. "The King's youngest son died, and his heart has grown cold. For now, it might be better if you continue to protect them from the shadows. They are not ready for you now."

The grief in his voice was so potent that Legolas found himself wondering if Radagast was choosing to avoid the Mirkwood elves as well, or if he had seen a stranger be rejected. If the former was the case, then the wizard was rather brave for letting Fael into his home. If it was the latter, perhaps it was best to remain hidden and anonymous.

With this in mind, Legolas rose from his seat. "Perhaps I should be going now, before Fael wakes."

Radagast glanced at the sleeping elf, eyes widening. "I believe that is wise. Fael is one of the King's sons. Do not worry, Esgal. I will not tell him your name."

"Thank you." Legolas said softly, and exited the house.

It was still pouring, and Legolas grimaced as he headed through the rain once more. At least this section of Mirkwood was not flooded. He looked around, trying to figure out where he was. His eyes rested on a dark shape in the distance, visible above the trees. The assassin scowled at the dark fortress. It made him uncomfortable that Radagast lived within seeing distance of Dol Guldur, but that was the wizard's choice.

The elf climbed up a tree, careful to keep his balance, and squinted through the pouring rain. The sight of more churning water caught his eye, and the elf could not stop a smirk from forming on his lips. He felt a thrill of bitter triumph and allowed himself to relish in it as he stood in the rain. With nimble movements he descended, deciding to wait out the storm beneath a thick covering of trees that was a half-mile away. The forest was not the only thing that was flooded.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

Anger. Confusion. Annoyance. Rage.

These were the emotions It felt as Its fortress, Its home was flooded with water. If It could, the Darkness would have snarled and lashed out at the water that invaded Dol Guldur, but not even It could fight nature. And so the Darkness merely seethed, Its own anger heightened by the rage of Its master. The Darkness knew why Its master and his kin were angry. Many orcs had drowned in the flash flood that had overcome the fortress. Fifty-six orcs had died. The Darkness knew this because It could sense everything in the Hill of Sorcery, and through It, Its master could as well.

The Darkness had once been small and harmless, unable to give invaders anything more than a slight feeling of unease for many years. Then, Its master had come, and through his darkness, the Darkness had grown in strength, gaining a "consciousness" once more. Its master did not truly understand that, but the Darkness did not care. It did not care what Its master did. As long as he did not leave.

It remembered what had happened the last time Its master had left It. It had been stunned and wounded, feeling like a fleshling whose limb had been torn off. It had sunk into shock, Its power falling. Because of that shock and weakness, the Darkness had unintentionally affected the evil creatures within Dul Guldur. It had slowed their minds and weakened their wits, letting the two lights that had somehow hidden from It kill them and escape.

It had remained in shock until Its master had returned, the limb reattaching to the body. The Darkness had relied too heavily on Its master's presence, and still relied upon it. It was too late for the Darkness to break away and survive without a Dark master to keep It conscious. It was not capable of sustaining Itself anymore. Like an addict, It had drunk in the Darkness of Its master's aura, until It could not remain functional on Its own. It hated and loved Its master because of this.

But now It was mostly feeling hate. It could hear Its master talking with one of his kin. Its master was leaving again. This time, permanently. He was moving to a place called "Minas Morgul", leaving his second-in-command Ringwraith in charge of Dol Guldur. The Darkness was not pleased. It refused to be left alone.

So when the Witch-King mounted on his dragon-like steed, uncaring about the storm that could not harm him, a large part of the Darkness wrapped around Its master. It would go with him to his new home. It would not be without Its master. It would not be left behind again.

**LOTRLOTRLOTR**

**A/N: Yup. The reason that Legolas and Ciaran got out so "easily" was because the Darkness of Dol Guldur had practically gone into shock or hibernation mode. The Darkness of the fortress had relied on the Witch-King for so long, that when he left it was like a part of the fortress had been wounded and It was left reeling and stunned. So now the main part of the Darkness in Dol Guldur has moved with the Witch-King to Minas Morgul... Sadly, Dol Guldur is still a Dark and Shadowed place. It's just not as overwhelming as it once was.**

**IMPORTANT! READ THIS!: Before you ask, no, Fael does not know Legolas is alive. And no, Fael does not know what Legolas looks like. Fael only saw Legolas "glowing" partially cause he was dying, partially through hallucinations. He really only saw a vague figure with pale blonde hair. He thought he was dying so he _expected_ to see Legolas, and his befuddled mind filled in the blanks (Blanks that happened to be correct) but he did not actually _see_ his brother.**

**Also yes, I named the fox kit after Kurama, the Nine-Tailed Fox Demon from Naruto. (Don't own). :P**

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter! I love you all! :D :D**

**Responses to Guest reviews:**

**To "Issy": Thanks!**

**To "Guest"(1): Thank you for reviewing! You got it! Good job! :D**

**To "Guest"(2): Thank you! Here's the update.**

**To "lyria": Thanks!**

**To "Guest"(3): Thanks for reviewing! Actually, "Isildur's Curse" never crossed my mind but it totally fits! That's awesome! :D This chapter (Third Age 2683) Legolas is 172 years old. In my story, elves are fully grown around age 125, so Legolas is an "adult" now. I cannot say much else without spoiling anything, but I will say this: you are probably going to see much of what you want to. ;)**

**To "Guest"(4): Thanks for leaving a comment! Congrats on getting the answer. Yeah, its going to be "fun". (evil smile)**

**Please review! Share your opinion!**


	7. 6: He Is Awake

**Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings.**

**A/N: For those of you who don't know:**

**Mithrandir is Gandalf**

**Curunir is Saruman**

**Aiwendil is Radagast**

**LOTRLOTRLOTR**

**Chapter Six: "He is Awake"**

_Third Age 2711 (300 years ago...)_

"Adar," Aglar said. "You do not need to attend this meeting. I could go in your place."

Thranduil looked down from his seat atop his horse, considering his son's offer. It was barely dawn and he, Barhad, Bereneth, Tollui, and a patrol of warriors were going to Lothlorien. The Elvenking— along with Gandalf, Elrond, and Saruman— had been summoned by Lady Galadriel to a council meeting to discuss the growing darkness. For a couple years Thranduil had believed the Shadow was actually receding, when Dol Guldur somehow lost much of its evil aura. The Mirkwood warriors had managed to regain some of the land across the river for a time. The forest and fortress had not weakened for long however, and the elves had been quickly pushed back where they had begun.

The meeting was necessary, but Thranduil found himself reluctant to go. This would be his first meeting with Galadriel and Celeborn since Luineth's funeral. And he had not seen Elrond for almost two hundred years either. Right after Legolas's capture, the Elf Lord had offered to assist the Elvenking's forces in their search for the youngest Prince. Elrond knew all-too-well what orcs were capable of. He had lost his wife, Celebrian, to the monsters. Not through death, but a loss of her ability to enjoy had managed to stay in Middle-earth for only a few months before departing to the Undying Lands. Arwen had left for Lothlorien soon after that. Thranduil had been a comforting friend to Elrond, his children being the same for the Lord's twin sons, but none of the Royal Family had fully understood what the Half-Elves had been feeling.

Back then, the Elvenking had refused his friend's offer. It was too dangerous for the warriors of Rivendell to travel so close to Dol Guldur. They were far from incompetent but in Mirkwood's dark woods it was necessary to know the land well, or risk walking into a trap. The search for the Lost Prince could easily turn into rescue attempts for allies that stumbled into Spiders' nests. Thranduil did not want Elrond to lose warriors to the darkness.

The two elven leaders kept contact through the years, but the ever-darkening forest made traveling between their two realms unwise. More and more trees were becoming shadowed, openly attacking elves that were ill-prepared on the road. It was best for outsiders to keep out. Elves would be welcome if they made it through the forest, but other races... not so much.

The Elvenking's already wary tolerance of Men and other races had all but diminished after the Orc Captain told him of Legolas's death and cruel Men's part in it. If the trees, orcs, and Spiders did not kill any intruders that were not allies, the elves would be sure to find them and deal with them. Through capture, exile, or death depended on who dared to come to Mirkwood and their actions within the forest. Thranduil still traded with the Men of Laketown, and accepted any Rangers who came by, of course. But if a non-elven person came from the South, from the direction Dol Guldur, and their motives were any bit questionable...

The Elvenking shook himself, breaking out of his thoughts to answer his son. "No. I must go. You are perfectly capable of running things while I am gone."

The Crown Prince hesitated a moment before he reluctantly nodded. "Have a safe journey, Adar."

With that, the Elvenking, Royal twins, adviser, and their guards rode away.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

Nine people— seven elves and two wizards— sat around a large open council chamber that was formed among the golden trees of Lothlorien. Chairs were carved out of the wood, looking as if they had naturally grown there. The participants in this meeting were Thranduil, Tollui, Elrond, Glorfindel, Erestor, Gandalf, Galadriel, Celeborn, and Saruman.

"We are gathered here to discuss the growing darkness," Gandalf began.

All looked at the gray-robed wizard, expressions ranging from seriousness to concern on their faces.

"What darkness do you speak of?" Saruman said. "I see no darkness here."

Without a thought, Thranduil was on his feet, eyes blazing with rage as he glared at the White Wizard. "What darkness? _What_ darkness?! My people are fighting and dying against the darkness! My son and wife were killed by it! And you have the gall to ask WHAT DARKNESS?!"

The Elvenking could feel Elrond's restraining hand on his shoulder but ignored it. He was shaking with anger and grief, though rage was the Sindar's forefront emotion. He was almost face-to-face with Curunir, barely noticing as the powerful Istar's hand tightened around his staff.

"_Calm yourself, Thranduil."_ Galadriel's voice spoke softly in his mind. _"You know of Curunir's ways."_

Indeed he did. Truthfully, the Sindar did not fully trust the White Wizard. He never had, now that he thought about it. Radagast was eccentric and in love with the forest, almost like a friendly neighbor. He helped the elves fight the shadow over Mirkwood, doing little things and warning them if any Spiders or orcs were doing something shady that the elves were unaware of. Thranduil knew that Aiwendil was not the most powerful of wizards, but was grateful he helped where he could. Oddly enough, the Brown Wizard had become a lot more informative and determined to assist them in the past... twenty-eight years? Ever since Fael fell in the river and was found by Radagast, now that the Elvenking thought about it.

Gandalf meanwhile was a close friend. He did not take much part in Mirkwood's fight against the darkness, but the Sindar knew that Mithrandir's duties lie elsewhere. Out of the three Istar, Gandalf was the most involved in the fight against Sauron. He was the one who searched for signs of the Dark Lord's return. He was the wizard that seemed to be the most spread out and dedicated, yet still finding time to stop by and say hello to old friends.

The Elvenking's only problem was with Curunir. The White Wizard wanted power. He wanted the Free People to be brought under his rule, though he was hesitant to openly go against the will of the Valar. Thranduil could see Saruman's desire for power, hidden beneath a guise of wisdom. The Elvenking could tell that Gandalf could not fully see his leader's greed but did know that Curunir's motives may not all be good. Galadriel, Celeborn, Elrond, and now Thranduil were fully aware of the White Wizard's plans.

It was not like they would do anything, however. Saruman held no power over elves, and had no influence in their lands. His plots would not affect them. As such, they would keep their respectful distance from each other. They had been doing that for a while, only meeting when the White Council was called upon. The Elvenking was not a part of the Council. He had not come within miles of Saruman in a long while.

Now he remembered why he tended to avoid the Istar. Out of all the Elven Lords and Kings, Thranduil was the most stubborn and attached to Middle-earth. He and his people cared for the land more than their kin, who longed for the sea. As such, Saruman's questionable plots would not be ignored by _him_. If he could, he would call Curunir out, and reveal him openly. But Galadriel did not want that. He could sense it. Why not?

"_Curunir may have strayed from his path, but he still has a part to play in this story,"_ the Lady of Light said in his mind. _"We cannot antagonize him now. He is still an ally."_

"_Your definition of "ally" greatly differs from mine,"_ Thranduil thought, still glaring furiously at Saruman. _"Why don't we warn Gandalf at least?"_

"_Mithrandir must keep Curunir's trust... for now."_ Galadriel told him mysteriously.

Knowing he was going to get no more answers from her, Thranduil backed off the slightest bit from Saruman, glare still in place. He returned to his seat, Elrond sitting beside him. The White Wizard's hand relaxed on his staff. Thranduil idly wondered how Gandalf would have reacted if Saruman had decided to use it.

"I apologize, Elvenking," Saruman said stiffly. "I meant no offense."

_Liar_, Thranduil thought. "Of course not." he managed to choke out.

"Have you been able to discover the source, Mithrandir?" Glorfindel questioned, moving the meeting along rather than reacting to the tension between two of its members.

"No." Gandalf stated. "Mordor is still silent. The Witch-King remains in Minas Morgul. His lieutenant is in charge of Dol Guldur. The shadow is growing stronger, and I fear it will not be long until Sauron begins to return to the physical world. He can communicate with his Ringwraiths, but that is all."

"But how much longer will that last?" Elrond questioned. "Sauron will return. The only question is how powerful and influential he will be once he does."

"As long as the One Ring remains lost, Sauron will never reach full power," Celeborn said. "However, the growing Shadow is a great threat, even without the Dark Lord."

"How do you propose we deal with the darkness?" Tollui asked. "What else can we do that is not already being done?"

"I do not know." Gandalf admitted. "With the threat of Sauron hanging over our heads, any victories we make against the Darkness will be meaningless. As Elrond said, Sauron _will_ return. And until he does, the Shadow will continue to grow. The Darkness cannot be defeated until the time is right, and Elendil's Heir retakes the throne of Gondor."

"Then we must do what we have always done." Thranduil said. "We must fight and survive." _Why did I even come to this gathering?_ He thought, looking around. _There will be no help for my people from anyone here. Elrond would offer if I asked, I know, but I cannot accept his aid. I will not accept. The shadow in Mirkwood is Mirkwood's problem, and we must fight as we always have. Alone._

The meeting went on.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

Bereneth, second daughter of the Elvenking, sat stiffly in a chair in one of the large trees of Lothlorien. She was not comfortable here, in the peace and grace of the Lady's home. She should be at home, fighting for her realm, not stuck around waiting while her father attended a very important meeting. If Barhad had not wished to go to Lothlorien, the younger twin would not be there at all. Ever since the ride that ended with the discovery of Legolas's death, Bereneth had stuck to her brother's side whenever he left the safety of the palace.

Yes, he was the older twin. Yes, he was an adult. Yes, he could take care of himself. But the last time he had gone out without her, he had been in a battle he should not have fought in. And he had found out their little brother was tortured to death. Bereneth had heard from her father what had transpired during the unexpected fight. If the Elvenking had not managed to get out of his depression and stupor, Barhad would have died. Bereneth had already lost one brother. She could not bear to lose another, especially her twin.

Which was why she was standing there, ill at ease beneath the pretty golden trees of Lotlorien. In her plain green warrior robes and leather armor she felt out of place. This was a place of peace, beauty, light, and joy. She did not like it here. It was _too_ peaceful, _too_ joyful, _too_ light. Why did this place thrive, while her home suffered? How could it remain unchanged, while Mirkwood grew darker every day.

As a Princess of Mirkwood, Bereneth knew _what_ was preserving Lothlorien, but it still was not fair. As she thought about it, she felt a flicker of pride. Out of the three elven realms, two were protected by a Ring of Power. Mirkwood preserved through it's inhabitants' wills alone.

_Perhaps we are stronger than they are,_ Bereneth thought grimly, almost bitterly. _We adapt and love this land while they remain unchanged and long for the sea..._ She stopped this line of thought in its tracks, chiding herself. _Stop that. It is petty to be jealous of them for being untouched by darkness. That is the reason we fight, in the end. To protect Middle-earth so not all of it is overcome by Shadow._

Deep down, the elleth knew that she was not envious of Lothlorien's peace, ignorance, and light. She did not feel like the Golden Woods and its elves were abandoning her people, or letting them fight the Darkness while they lived in peace. There was only one person in Lothlorien she was angry at. A single person who had abandoned everything for this realm. She had abandoned her family, friends, culture, and love for Middle-earth in exchange for a new family, culture, and a distant longing for the sea.

"Bereneth?"

The younger twin closed her eyes, not facing the speaker for a moment. Putting on her best diplomatic face, she looked up. Standing there was the last person she wanted to see. The person she had had a grudge against for almost two hundred years, ever since their brother was captured.

"Hannel." Bereneth said tightly.

Her sister stood there in a flowing silver dress, golden hair shining. She was still delicate-looking and calm, the motherly, warm look staying in her eyes. When Bereneth was an elfling, Hannel was always the one she would go to if Luineth was not in the palace. The oldest Princess was the second mother of all of Thranduil and Luineth's children even to Aglar. At least, she used to be. Until Luineth died.

If Hannel sensed her younger sister's hostility, she did not show it. She sat down next to Bereneth in the empty chair. "It is good to see you," the oldest Princess said in her soft, lilting voice. "It has been a long time."

She was acting as if their last meeting had not ended with an argument. Her dismissal of the past made Bereneth want to slug her. Rather than respond with something very un-Princess-like, the younger sister kept her silence. Luineth looked at her with blue eyes that were the exact same shade as their father's. However, Hannel's eyes showed only their mother's kindness instead of their father's strength. The anger simmering in Bereneth's chest strengthened as she studied her sister. Their was no grief in her posture, face, or eyes. There was no anger or sadness either. There never had been, not even when their mother was newly dead. Did she not care at all?

"I did not even know you were here until Barhad told me," Hannel continued, ignorant to her sister's rising ire. "I'd almost think you were ignoring me."

If Bereneth did not know any better, she would swear that Hannel was trying to goad her into a fist-fight. Hannel did not goad and did not fight. At least, she did not fight physically. Debates were one of her pastimes, unlike Bereneth who preferred to just stab things with her sword. Hannel was waiting for her to respond, graceful and glowing as she sat beneath the trees. Just like everything else in this forest.

"You really adapted to the Noldor lifestyle didn't you," Bereneth said coldly before she could stop herself. "So much that you _didn't come_."

Hannel blinked, brow furrowing with confusion. "Excuse me?"

Bereneth exploded. She leapt to her feet, chair crashing down behind her. "YOU DIDN'T COME TO LEGOLAS'S FUNERAL!" she screamed in her sister's face. "DO YOU CARE SO LITTLE THAT YOU COULDN'T BE BOTHERED TO SAY GOODBYE?!"

Hannel's blue eyes were wide, shock etched into her expression. "What—"

"WE NEEDED YOU!" the younger Princess continued to shout. "WE ALL NEEDED YOU! BUT YOU WEREN'T THERE! YOU LEFT US!"

The older Princess was quiet, looking down at her folded hands for the longest time. Bereneth glared at her, waiting. How would her sister react? With cold aloofness? Quiet anger? Most likely she would lecture Bereneth about shouting and disturbing the peace of Lothlorien when she was an honored guest...

When the oldest Princess finally looked up, Bereneth did a double take, the remainder of her anger dying before it could be voiced. Gentle, calm, collected, emotionless, uncaring Hannel... was _crying_.

"You're right." Hannel whispered, tears trickling down her cheeks. "I did leave you. I didn't help to try to find Legolas. I left my birthplace to go somewhere better off. I made a new family with my husband and the people here. But I abandoned my family in the process." She covered her face with her hands. "I abandoned you and Ada and our brothers when we needed to be together. I left you on your own when we could have helped each other with our grief. Instead I ran back to Lothlorien. I was never strong. I was never aloof. I always cared. I just couldn't show it. I had to pretend to be the strong one. I had to try to keep things normal. But when you said I was not grieving... There were already too many memories in Mirkwood, and I couldn't handle it. So I left, without returning or saying goodbye. And—" she began to hiccup, struggling to speak through her sobs. "—the next time I heard from my family— it was a letter saying my littlest brother is _dead_. And I was too much of a coward to return to Mirkwood, even to attend his funeral. I was— so afraid— that you all would reject me. That you would accuse me of not caring again. Luineth was my mother, and Legolas my brother. How could you say that I didn't care, and claim I still don't care? They were my _family_."

The younger sister watched her elder weep. Then, slowly, she set the chair upright once more and sat beside Hannel, wrapping her arms around her and bringing her into a hug. "I never really thought that you were unaffected by grief." Bereneth said. "I was never really angry at _you_... I was angry at the world, and jealous that you could be so normal and strong when the rest of us struggled with grief. It hurts me that you did not trust me or any of us enough to tell us you were grieving and needed help just as much as the rest of us. You're my sister and I love you. I'll always be there for you, no matter what."

Hannel smiled through her tears, now shedding tears of joy. "That means a lot to me, Bere." she said, using the nickname the younger sister had not been called in a long time. "Thank you."

"So..." Bereneth said awkwardly, struggling to think of a new topic to address. "Are you and Lachon planning on having a child?"

Hannel looked at the ground. When she spoke, her voice was choked. "My husband and I cannot have an elfling."

The younger sister froze, guilt and shock overcoming her. "I— I'm sorry—"

"You misunderstand." Hannel said quickly, though her voice remained sad. "We cannot have an elfling _here_, on Middle-earth. No elves can anymore."

Bereneth remembered her lessons and shut her eyes, shaking her head. "No elflings will be born when the Shadow is too strong. I never really noticed that there weren't elflings running around the city. Not since Legolas—" She stopped abruptly, pressing her lips together to hold back the grief.

The two sat in silence for a long time, simply watching the forest.

"He was the last, you know." Hannel said quietly. When her sister gave her a questioning look she explained. "Legolas. He was the last elfling born in Middle-earth."

"When the Shadow is defeated, the time of the elves really will end won't they?" Bereneth murmured.

"Yes." Hannel said sadly.

The younger sister peered at the older, surprised by her sister's tone. "You sound like you don't want to leave."

"I don't," Hannel admitted. "Not yet. I may have left Mirkwood but I still love the trees. When the elves' time is truly over, I will sail, but I am not ready to leave Middle-earth now."

Bereneth smiled back at her, relaxing fully for the first time since her sister had arrived. Perhaps she had judged Hannel too harshly. The two elleth talked for a long time, the hours passing by unnoticed as the sisters reforged the bond that had been broken so long ago.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

The Darkness was annoyed. Its master had left again, and It was not pleased. The separation was not as crippling as the one It experienced in Dol Guldur, but It still hurt and weakened the Darkness. The Darkness hated being weak. It stretched out from Its home in Minas Morgul, straining to find Its master. But Its was too far away for It to reach. Irritation became anger, and if anyone had been around Minas Morgul they would have seen the tower shudder and shake in reaction to the Darkness's rage.

Furious and reckless, the Darkness stretched further, savagely seeking for any other Darkness, any evil that could sustain It. It would not lose Itself. It would not let the Shadows It cast fail. Further and further It stretched, pushing, digging, seeking all around for a Darkness It could latch onto. Then, the Darkness felt it. It was distant, tiny and small, almost like it did not exist in this world. But the Darkness could sense it. It was another Darkness. The Darkness was pleased. It had found a new master.

Minas Morgul's Darkness attempted to touch the other Darkness, only to find it blocked. Anger reaching its peak— how dare anything keep It from Its master!— the Darkness slammed into the strange shield that surrounded this other Darkness. It bashed against it, raged against it, slamming into it again and again with all of Its strength. Something shifted, something cracked, and the Darkness shuddered as the thing containing the other Darkness broke, a single hairline fracture forming in the strange shield that had tried to hide this Darkness.

The Darkness of Minas Morgul reached out, touching the other, distant Darkness. Instantly, power rose within the Darkness, the other Darkness feeding the entity that had found it. There was power, so much power, and the Darkness could not stop, reaching farther, wanting more...

And the other Darkness awoke.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

Far away in Lothlorien, the day after the gathering, Galadriel was watching Thranduil's party ride away, Haldir at her side. The Lady of the Light sighed deeply as she watched the proud Elvenking. "I pray you heart can heal, Mellon-nin." She turned away, walking towards the door. She halted when she noticed the Marchwarden was not following her. "Haldir?"

The elf still stood by the window, body rigid and stiff. His fists were clenched at his sides, his eyes were closed, and he did not turn from the window. Concerned, Galadriel walked back to him. "Haldir?"

He did not respond. More than a little alarmed, Galadriel tried to touch his mind, flinching as she hit a wall made of odd golden mist and fog. _What is this?!_ Before she could attempt to find out, the Marchwarden's eyes snapped open, gaze distant and blank.

"_He is awake._" he whispered, voice rasping and soft.

Galadriel looked at him sharply. "What?"

Haldir blinked, swaying a moment before his eyes focused. "I apologize my Lady. I must have dozed off. Did you say something?"

"What did you just say?" the Lady repeated.

Haldir looked at her with open confusion on his face. "I didn't say anything."

Gently, Galadriel touched his mind again, and this time his thoughts were confused, open, and all Haldir. "Something strange has happened here," she murmured ominously, gaining a wary look from her warrior.

Leaving the confused Marchwarden behind, she descended the steps, hurrying to her mirror with urgent grace. Slowly, she poured water into the bowl, gazing down as she searched for answers. She saw no visions, of the future, present, or past. She saw no images of things that might come. Instead there was nothing.

There was nothing but Darkness.

**LOTRLOTRLOTR**

**A/N: You know, I was tempted to call this chapter "Saruman Really Deserves to Get Punched in the Face" but decided against it. Hmm. Things happened kinda fast this chapter... at least to me it seemed like they did. Sorry for the super-short sections. They annoyed me but I couldn't figure out a way to lengthen them without revealing stuff I did not want to reveal yet. ;)**

**So, what do you think of Bereneth and Hannel? They were the two OCs I was most worried about introducing. The two sisters are kind of like fire and ice. Bereneth: warrior, bold, speaks her mind, speaks before she thinks, blunt. Hannel: graceful, gentle, soft spoken, hides negative emotions so her family and friends do not worry... :)**

**Thank you to all the wonderful, awesome, amazing people who reviewed, followed, and/or added this story to their favorites list! :D**

**Responses to Guest reviews:**

**To "Issy": Thanks! I love Radagast. :)**

**To "lyria": Thank you! Yes, he will. I won't say when though. ;)**

**To "Guest": Thanks! :D**

**Please review! Share your opinion!**


	8. 7: Acceptance and Rejection

**Edit A/N: Hi! This chapter has been redone slightly. I realized that my computer corrupted the document before I posted it on the site, so some words were jumbled, some were deleted, and some sentences made no sense. Stupid piece of junk... :( Anyway, I fixed it now! If you see anything I missed, please tell me.**

**LOTRLOTRLOTR**

**Chapter Seven: Acceptance and Rejection**

_Third Age 2736 (275 years ago...)_

The forest that contained the haven known as Rivendell was peaceful and calm, even as daylight began to fade into night. The green colors of the leaves darkened in hue and shadows lengthened beneath the towering trees, but a glow still seemed to have a hold on the land, making even the darkest night seem bright.

Four elves and four horses were camped in the forest, far from the edge of the trees but not yet at their destination. Three were dark haired, with the two younger ones exactly identical in appearance. The final elf had brilliant golden hair, a sharp contrast compared to his companions and the dark night. One of the identical elves was currently speaking with the golden-haired one, voice soft but persuasive as he spoke.

"I'm sure that we can make it home tonight, Glorfindel." Elladan Peredhel said, half-pleadingly, half argumentatively. "It's not far to Imladris."

The Balrog Slayer rose an eyebrow at the twin, pulling his pack from his horse's back. "It is far enough away that we would be riding until morning. And if we hurried, and arrived in the middle of the night, your father will run out, demanding to know who is hurt and berating me for letting one of you be injured. I'd rather not be lectured for something that did not happen. We will rest tonight, and arrive tomorrow at a proper pace so your father doesn't get any more grey hairs."

"We aren't _that_ bad," Elladan protested.

The fourth elf, Erestor, looked up from the book he was perusing, eyebrows raised incredulously. "You are." he said simply and returned to his book.

While Elladan gaped, indignant, Elrohir ignored the jibe against them, looking around the forest. His silver eyes lingered on each leaf and tree, sadness entering his gaze.

"Is it just me," he began, interrupting his brother's argument before it could begin. "Or does the forest seem darker?"

"It's nighttime, Brother. Of course it is dark." Elladan said in a teasing voice, even though he knew that was not what his brother meant.

Out of the twins, Elrohir was more sensitive to the world around them. He had gained some of his father's healing and premonition abilities, making him more aware of the Darkness and changes in the world.

It was this knowledge that made Glorfindel ask, "Do you sense something?"

"Other than a distant feeling of dread, there is nothing to worry about," Elrohir said easily.

His emotions revealed the lie he told. Elladan could tell through their bond. As identical twins, the brothers had a low-level telepathic link between them. This ability ranged from basic empathy to communicating mentally, depending on their intentions and concentration. Right now, the older twin could sense his brother's unease, like a tingling chill running up his spine. However, Elladan did not mention his brother's concern aloud. If Elrohir thought what he sensed was a valid concern, he would tell Glorfindel.

"Perhaps it just seems dark compared to the trees of the Golden Wood," the older twin said instead.

The four elves from Rivendell were returning from a trip to Lothlorien, where they had visited the twins' sister, Arwen. Travel between the two Ring-protected elven realms was easy enough, and a visit to Arwen had been long overdue. Ever since their mother, Celebrian, sailed, Arwen had remained in Lothlorien with their grandparents. Imladris had held too many memories of Celebrian for the elleth, so she had gone to the Golden Wood to find peace.

A part of Elladan had been angry at his sister for leaving, but he was mostly relieved that Arwen had not gone with their mother West. The loss of Celebrian was hundreds of years old, but it still hurt. Elladan sensed his brother's worry shifting, the dread about a distant threat becoming concern for his brother.

"_I'm fine."_ Elladan said telepathically to his twin.

The younger twin looked away from his brother. "Maybe it is the forest," Elrohir said aloud. "There are no orcs anywhere near Daernaneth and Daeradar's realm."

Although the Hidden Valley remained hidden— thus the name— from orcs and other servants of Sauron, a few patrols had been spotted in and around the forest that housed Rivendell. Whether they were searching for the sanctuary or were merely passing through, no one knew. Any orcs found were quickly taken care of by Rivendell warriors. Still, the presence of the creatures so close to the secret elven realm was worrying. It was proof that the Shadow's presence was growing steadily stronger in Middle-earth.

As he set up camp with his three companions, Elladan forcibly pushed all thoughts of Arwen, his mother, orcs, and other troubling topics from his mind. All that mattered now was sleep, and getting home in one piece. It was true that he and Elrohir had a bad habit of running into trouble outside of the Last Homely House. Well, this time, the older twin was determined to break that streak of bad luck. They were only a few hours from home. Surely they could make it through this trip unscathed.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

Glorfindel was on watch. The Balrog Slayer sat on a fallen tree near the dwindling campfire, blue eyes scanning the dark forest continually as the night slowly went on. He was the third watch, after the twins had their turns, and had a few more hours until he would wake Erestor for his. The Vanyar was not sure whether he would wake his peer or not. He was not tired, and had no intentions to sleep soon. Personally, he agreed with Elladan that they could have pressed on to the Last Homely House but the forest was more dangerous than it once was.

Elrohir was right. The woods were just a tad darker than they had once been. Well, not dark, per say. It was not darkness that made this forest seem more shadowed, it was the worry of the trees. Glorfindel did not need to be a Wood-Elf to sense the trees' fear and alarm. The Shadow was not touching them yet, and most likely would not ever as long as Vilya's power remained, but the trees could sense the darkness closing in on the rest of the world. It scared them, and their nervousness made the forest just a little darker.

The fire slowly died, left to its own devises as Glorfindel sighed mutely, sobered by the path his thoughts had taken. Even in Rivendell, the shadow lingered, circling around the haven like a predator in the night. Speaking of predators...

Shadows moved in the forest, hulking figures almost invisible among the trees. A feeling of evil and darkness overcame Glorfindel, making him stiffen. Instantly, the Balrog Slayer was on his feet. A hand touching his sword-hilt, the Vanyar crept into the forest, peering through the trees. Only fifty yards from where the elves were camped was a marching horde of familiarly deadly creatures. The elf slowly backed into the camp, eyes staying on the spot where he could see the armored figures. He knelt beside his companions, waking them with a touch and whispering a soft warning in their ears.

"Orcs!"

The three dark-haired elves were fully awake and armed in an instant, facing the same direction as Glorfindel as they all watched the shapes moving beneath the trees. The orcs were far enough away that humans would not have been able to notice them, but their elven eyes could just sight the shapes moving between the trees.

"How did they get so close?" Elrohir hissed, sounding upset with himself. "I should have sensed them and awoken before this!"

"That doesn't matter," his brother murmured. "Glorfindel, do we fight or run?"

The Balrog Slayer's blue eyes scanned the still-vague shadows, narrowing as he counted the vague shapes he saw. He glanced at Erestor, who held his sword in one hand and a closed book in the other like a shield. The elf was not a fighter. That left three elves to fight however many orcs were passing by. They were skilled elves, yes, but still only three against what looked like a small army.

"Stay quiet. They haven't noticed us yet. We don't know their numbers and they have the advantage in the night. Get the horses. We'll head north and circle around toward Rivendell. If they follow we'll lose them along the path. Mount up _now_."

Blue eyes pierced the twins, noting the anger on the twins' faces. "We are not fighting."

He spoke with the harsh voice of a commander, gazing steadily at the tense twins. The Balrog Slayer knew if he was not firm and stern, the two Elrondion would run after the orcs, regardless of the consequences. Hundreds of years was not enough time for their hunter personas and instincts to fade completely. Elrohir looked away first, walking quietly to his horse. Elladan's lips pressed together angrily before he copied his twin.

Silently, the elves approached their mounts, waking them with soothing words and soft whispers. The elven horses stiffened when they smelt the orcs but remained quiet, their nerves only shown by the widening of their gentle eyes. They listened to the elves forever, keeping their silence despite their fear. Still quiet, the elves gathered up their belongings, mounting their horses and galloping away. The pounding of the orcs' feet, covered the sound of their horses hooves on the path. The mulch and dirt muffled the hoof-beats further as the elves fled.

After a few minutes with no sounds of pursuit, Erestor relaxed, turning to look at Glorfindel. "Are we safe?"

The Balrog Slayer glanced at Elrohir. "I cannot sense their vile presence anymore. You?"

"No." the younger twin said. "I don't—"

A whistling sound ripped through the air and Elrohir's mount shrieked rearing up and throwing the elf from his back. Elrohir went flying, hitting the ground as his mount collapsed, an arrow in her side. Shapes appeared from the foliage like demons in the night, charging towards the elves with savage roars ripping from their throats.

_Ambush!_ Glorfindel cursed silently as he slashed at an orc with his sword. _They knew we were there!_

As he fought from atop his horse, who assisted him by biting and stomping any orcs that came near, the Vanyar searched for the twins and Erestor in the fray. Erestor was atop his horse, grim faced as he stabbed and slashed at orcs with all the fighting skill he could muster. Elladan was off his horse and at his brother's side. The twins were back-to-back as they fought the hated enemies around them. How many were there? Thirty? Fifty? Seventy-five? One hundred? Glorfindel could not tell. All he knew was that there were seriously outnumbered.

_What I wouldn't give for an archer right now..._ the Balrog Slayer thought as he stabbed another orc in the gut. At least we listened to Galadriel and wore our armor home. Did she know this was going to happen?

He spun, slashing another across the forehead before stabbing another in the chest. He yanked his blade out, striking another with his armored fist. His maneuvered his horse closer to Erestor's dismounting and letting his stallion take care of some orcs on his own. The white steed was happy to do so, attacking the orcs with quick stomps and deadly bites. Elven horses may have feared orcs, but they were too loyal and determined to run. So, as it was with many creatures, fear gave way to anger, and the horses faced the ones that terrified them and attacked.

Glorfindel left his horse to it, staying near Erestor and watching the scholar from the corner of his eye. The less-combative elf was doing well, his horse more panicked than Glorfindel's but attacking with the same determination as the Balrog's Slayer's and keeping many orcs away from his master. So concerned he was for the scholar, the Vanyar did not know the twins were in trouble until a scream made him flinch.

"ELROHIR!"

Glorfindel turned in time to see the younger twin go down, his head slamming into the trunk of a tree with extreme force. Apparently the twins had been seperated, some orcs forcing Elladan towards the center of the clearing and others making Elrohir back towards the trees. The tree's shocked, horrified cries mixed with Elladan's shriek.

"NO!"

He lunged for the orcs that surrounded his unconscious brother, stabbing and slashing in a frenzy in his attempt to reach his fallen twin. Glorfindel swept in like an avenging angel, mowing through orcs with icy rage on his face. Many of the orcs purposely crowded together between the elves and their injured kin, jeering and unafraid as they faced the two elves' vengeance. Glorfindel could see one of the orcs lifting Elrohir onto his shoulder and running into the woods. A terrible sense of deja vu overcame the Balrog Slayer and terror gripped his heart.

_No! Not again!_

He stepped forward, ready to pursue, when Elladan's pained cry drew his attention. The older twin was on the ground, face white, with an orc's sword embedded in his shoulder. The orc jerked the blade free, raising it to finish the job. Glorfindel gave a roar and threw his blade, impaling the orc through the chest. Unsheathing a dagger, the Balrog Slayer slashed a tendon in an orc's elbow, making its sword-arm useless, and retrieving his sword. Standing over Elladan, Glorfindel was a blur, beating back any orcs that came near.

The orcs disengaged from Erestor, who was still on his horse with a moderately-sized pile of corpses around him, running off. Those fighting Glorfindel did not have that opportunity. He cut them down. It did not matter if they were fighting or running. The evil creatures had earned the wrath of the Balrog Slayer, and he attacked without mercy.

After the final orc fell to Glorfindel's vengeance-fulled blade, the Vanyar joined Erestor at the remaining twin's side. The scholar had bound his wound, the cloth ripped from the scholar's cloak stained red. Elladan's breathing was harsh and his face pale, sweat beading on his brow. His silver, feverish eyes— the blade must have been poisoned— met Glorfindel's blue ones, wide with fear and desperation.

"G-Glorfindel." Elladan panted. "They t-took h-him. E-El—"

The Balrog Slayer knelt down next to the younger elf, squeezing his shoulder gently. "I'll find him." he promised. He stood, looking sharply at Erestor. "Get him to Lord Elrond."

The other elf hesitated. "You're going after them alone?"

Glorfindel nodded, swiftly sitting atop his horse. "Yes. Get him home and send a patrol after me, all right?"

Erestor nodded determinedly, pulling Elladan up onto his horse. The older twin gave a pained gasp and swiftly passed out. It was one of the few times Glorfindel had ever heard the stoic scholar curse.

Erestor mounted gracefully, locking eyes with the Balrog Slayer. "Good hunting."

Not watching them vanish down the path, the Balrog Slayer rode away, pursuing the remainder of the small army that had captured his friend's son.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

Dark clouds covered the sky, promising a violent storm later in the day. It was so dark it was practically night, but Legolas was not bothered by the gloom that hung over the normally bright forest of Imladris. He was used to traveling in shadowed places. His most common haunt was Mirkwood after all. He preferred the shadowy woods of Mirkwood rather than the busy villages or Man or the bright realms of the other elves, but still traveled much at random times or when the need to get away struck him.

He remained a silent protector of those whose paths crossed his, hunting orcs, stopping raids, and even carrying injured people to the nearest civilization. He would accept thanks and shelter with humans but never revealed himself to elves or Wizards. Radagast was an exception, and had remained a mix of close friend and eccentric uncle to the young elf. Fifty-three years after his first encounter with the Brown Wizard, his words of caution remained in Legolas's mind. The same doubtful, worrying thoughts repeated themselves in the assassin's head.

What if the elves did not accept him? What if they thought he was unnatural? What if his family were exiled from the elven realms? What if they had left his mother and him to die at the orcs hands? Closing his eyes, Legolas struggled for the thousandth time in his mind, trying to retrieve a memory, any memory, of his family and his life before Dol Guldur. All he received was the terrible image of his mother, surrounded by orcs, Grihtz's sword raised to slay her where she knelt.

The assassin flinched and shook his head, clearing his mind of the terrible, half-forgotten memory. A distant pounding caught his attention and he went still. He recognized the sound of marching feet well enough. Without a second thought the elf leapt straight upward, landing neatly on the tree limb high above the ground. A moment later the trees sensed the incoming creatures and hissed warnings.

_Orcs._

_I know_, Legolas responded, bow in his hand with an arrow notched in the string.

The orcs emerged from the shadows, running quickly but uniformly beneath Legolas's branch. The assassin counted fifteen orcs in the band. He studied the group of orcs carefully, noting the way they looked over their shoulder and crowded around an orc in the center. He appeared to be carrying something.

A glint in the gloom caught his attention, his sharp eyes zeroing in on the flicker of light. Two of the orcs were carrying what appeared to be a sword. The sword was too well-crafted to be of orc-make, and too fine to have been created in the forges of Man. Why would orcs be carrying an elvish blade? Unless...

The hiding assassin gripped the tree limb tightly, crouching lower on the branch. He let the arrow droop out from the string, now harmless. There were too many orcs to shoot without them fleeing or retaliating. Also, Legolas did not know why they had captured an elf. If they were bringing him somewhere on their master's orders, the orcs would not kill their captive. But if the elf did not need to live or he was only a hostage, they would slay him the moment enemy forces arrived.

Moving through the treetops, Legolas followed the orcs as they ran on the ground, glancing nervously behind them. The assassin got a glimpse of their captive, anger flaring in his chest as he saw the unconscious elf's wounds. Legolas could see a gash on the elf's leg, and blood was drying on his cheek from a cut on his temple. The dark hair and blue armor suggested he was a warrior of Rivendell.

Based on the orcs' speed and hasty running, the elf was with other elves when he was captured, most likely on patrol with his fellow warriors. Legolas idly wondered if the Rivendell elves had been tracking the orcs or had been ambushed. He pushed these thoughts from his mind, focusing on keeping his prey in sight. Despite the many differences between his own capture and this, Legolas was terribly reminded of his own kidnapping. He knew that whatever awaited the elf at the end of his journey would not be pleasant. It did not matter who the elf was or how he had ended up in his current predicament. All that mattered was getting him away from the orcs. Legolas _had_ to rescue him.

The assassin leapt silently from branch to branch before pausing, the trees' whispering softly around him. Their vague calls and emotions prodded at the Wood elf like a child poking his arm to get his attention. He felt their mix of excitement, encouragement, and worry as they murmured and breathed, unwilling to move and reveal the position of the one that had caught their attention. The thoughts and emotions the trees expressed were one Legolas had quickly learned to associate with elves. There was another elf nearby.

Legolas jumped further upward, peering down through the branches as a figure on horseback moved quickly— but not too quickly— after the orcs, staying out of their sight. The elf paused, peering down at the other in silence. He was another warrior in blue armor, his golden hair unnervingly bright amidst in the trees. The elf was good at hiding from those he pursued however, keeping back as he stalked the horde. His horse was as silent and intent as his master, ears twitching and steps silent as they followed the orcs.

_The Rivendell elf's ally is also tracking the orcs_, the assassin thought._ He must be hanging back until reinforcements arrive, or is waiting until he can get his friend out without alerting the orcs._ _I need not get involved in this and expose myself... but I'm going to anyway. If they need my help, I will assist. I will not stand by and watch them be slaughtered._

With this in mind, Legolas traveled quickly through the trees, following the orcs and the elf tracking them, an unseen guardian in the treetops.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

The orcs stopped for the night, camped at the edge of the woods, just outside the Misty Mountains. The cloudiness of the day had let them travel throughout it, only stopping halfway into the next night. Much distance had been put between them and Rivendell, and Glorfindel hoped that the patrol of elves Erestor had sent would be able to find their trail. He knew that help would be a long time in coming, though. A steady rain had washed away much of the trail. The orcs had not set up camp at all in the many hours they had traveled. They had ony rested long enough for Glorfindel— carefully hidden in the trees— to eat some lembas and let his horse take a break.

His horse was waiting patiently further back, but close enough if he had to grab Elrohir and run. At this point, this might be his only option. Help was a long way behind them and with this cloudy weather the orcs would be able to travel far. If there was a chance for Glorfindel to rescue the twin tonight, he had to take it. He would not leave Elroir in the orcs' hands for long. He could not let what had happened to Celebrian happen to her son. If Elrohir was tortured and broken like she was... The Vanyar forced himself not to finish that line of thought.

The orcs were in small groups, without tents or fire. They merely stayed beneath the lonely moon, brooding about the slight chill but not complaining. Whining about being hungry or cold would be punished violently. Glorfindel held his breath as an orc— most likely the leader of the band— approached Elrohir. He peered down at the still-unconscious elf with cruel yellow eyes, teeth bared in a yellowed snarl.

"We sure this is one of Elrond's sons?" the orc growled, glaring at the orc that had been carrying the elf.

The orc nodded firmly, grinning and revealing dirty fangs. "Yeah. 'e was one o' those twins."

The leader smirked, kicking the elf in the hope of getting a reaction out of him. Elrohir did not even twitch, so deeply unconscious he was.

The orc snorted. "The master wants 'im for leverage. We can't kill 'im."

He sounded so disappointed that a chill went up Glorfindel's spine. He always forgot how vile, cruel, and savage orcs were until he encountered them again. Another orc stepped up beside the first, a hateful expression on his face.

"The master said 'e wants 'im alive." the orc emphasized. "_Alive_, 'e said. 'e didn't say _uninjured_."

The leader's face brightened like a predator that had spotted wounded prey. Cheers went up through the surrounding orcs' as they realized what their fellow soldier was saying.

"Cut off his ears!"

"Whip him 'til 'e screams!"

"Burn him!"

Shouts begging for violence and torture sounded through the air. Glorfindel could feel himself trembling, from both rage and fear. Rage that the orcs could so casually wish for harm upon another and fear for Elrohir.

"Let's carve up 'is pretty face, shall we?" the orc leader bellowed, and received yells of bloodlust-filled joy from his kin.

The orc knelt next to the limp elf, unsheathing a knife from its sheath. Glorfindel's heart pounded as he watched. There was no time to plan. He could not stand here and watch Elrohir be tortured and mutilated. He had to act now! The knife was making a slow descent, not stabbing, merely lowering, as the orc leader prepared to cut the helpless elf.

Before the knife could touch the unconscious twin's skin, an arrow appeared in the orc leader's throat. He tipped, falling to the ground, and fourteen orcs and one elf stared at him in mute astonishment. Glorfindel blinked and someone was _there_, twin daggers plunging into the orcs nearest Elrohir.

In the trees, the Balrog Slayer tensed, reaching for his sword as he prepared to enter what had to be a useless fight. There were at least fifty orcs left! What was the figure thinking?! To his surprise, one of the orcs _screamed_. It was a sound of pure terror, terror that was only emphasized by the _fear_ on the orc's face. The orc was _afraid_?!

"Hoshvuras!" the orc shrieked.

Glorfindel did not know what the orc had said, but the cloaked figure did. News of the guardian of the forest, slayer of orcs, had not reached the lves, but it had reached the ears of the ones he hunted. The "Hoshvuras", Silent Slayer in Westron, was almost like a ghost tale in the servants' of Sauron's ranks. A mysterious creature of the forest, able to turn invisible and melt into the shadows it fought, Hoshvuras was a Spirit of Death and Vengeance, his only purpose to slay the servants of the Shadow. None had ever escaped Hoshvuras, but all orcs knew him when they were unlucky enough to see him. After all, what creature other than Hoshvuras could have such unnaturally glowing violet eyes.

The figure's movements were graceful , almost like a dancer's. The orcs fell around him like grass to a scythe, frozen as if unable to flee or fight. Glorfindel could not see when the mysterious stranger struck them or where, but as he ghosted through them the orcs _all_ died. Any orcs who tried to run and were not trampled were shot down by arrows. Those that tried to rush and fight the figure were cut down with ease.

The figure moved like water, never stopping, never blocking, only killing, killing, killing, each strike deadly. Glorfindel watched with shock, awe, and a little fear as the figure carved through the horde of orcs as easily as a fish swam through water. Another unnerving element was how _silent_ he was. He did not grunt or shout like his enemies, only fighting with an eerie silence. Not even a clang of metal on metal was heard. If Glorfindel did not know any better, he could have sworn it was a ghost. He almost thought it was a ghost that had appeared when he caught a glimpse of glowing violet eyes.

The figure stood in the center of the bloody battlefield, unmoving except for his bright violet eyes, which scanned the area for more enemies. Finding none, he knelt beside Elrohir, reaching for him. Glorfindel stiffened but quickly relaxed as the figure merely checked the dark haired elf for a pulse. The half-elf's rescuer tensed and looked up, violet eyes meeting the Balrog Slayer's blue ones.

The cloaked figure shifted slightly, poised to flee, but his hand hovered near Elrohir almost protectively. Before the rescuer could choose between flight and staying with the elf he had saved, Glorfindel emerged from the trees. His hands were held up in a peaceful gesture, away from his sword, and he kept his posture relaxed and nonthreatening.

"Its alright. I'm a friend." the Vanyar said.

The cloaked elf— for only an elf could fight in such a smooth, beautiful, and deadly way— did not put down his guard, but he did not flee either. Seeing this as permission to approach, Glorfindel knelt next to the elf and Elrohir, quickly checking his wounds. The Balrog Slayer looked at his silent companion, unable to see any features except his luminous violet eyes. He could not see a glow on the other's skin, but deep down, the Vanyar knew the other was an elf.

"I have bandages and some herbs in my pack," he said to the violet-eyed elf. "Can you stay with him while I get them?"

The cloaked elf nodded, still not speaking. Glorfindel smiled in what he hoped was an encouraging way and hurried to where his horse was tethered. He quickly grabbed the pack, leading his horse along with him as his mind reeled.

_Who is that elf? Why does he have violet eyes? How can he fight like that? How did he kill all those orcs? Thranduil has been saying that his patrols keep finding piles of burning orc and Spider bodies in Mirkwood. Could he be the one slaying them? Why is he doing that? Where's he from? Why has he never revealed himself? Who is he?_

Back at the camp, Legolas sat with the unconscious son of Elrond, panic freezing his limbs and keeping him from moving. The self-preserving and panicked part of him screamed that they needed to run before the golden-haired elf— Lord Glorfindel of all people!— returned, but the calm, helpful part insisted that he could not leave the wounded twin alone. Not that he could move anyway. He was paralyzed by fear. Legolas's heart was pounding loudly in his chest, so loud he was sure the whole forest could hear its frantic beat.

Frankly, he did not know why he was not running yet. Perhaps his sense of duty and determination to stay with the twin until he knew the Elrondion was in safe hands was greater than his panic at being discovered by an elf. Not just any elf, but an ancient Elf Lord. If Legolas had any less control, he would be hyperventilating. Saving the elf from being mutilated had been instinct. Legolas had not stopped to think about the other elf that had been pursuing the orcs. He would not respect himself if he had cared about remaining hidden more than saving a life. He had enough of a calm mind to gently clean and put pressure on the twin's reopened wounds but now that the battle was done and the elf out of immediate danger...

_He saw me. He saw me. He saw me._ The thought repeated itself in his head. _Oh Valar what do I __**do**__? Should I run?_ He instantly rejected the thought. He was not going to run like a scared child. _I'll be fine. What's the worst he could do?..._

_...He could reject me. Please let me be paranoid. Please don't let the first of my kind that I meet think I'm strange._

It was then that Glorfindel returned, instantly setting to work wrapping the twin's wounds. Legolas opened his mouth, unwilling to distract the elf. He closed it, opened it once more, and forced himself to speak.

"What's his name?"

The Balrog Slayer glanced at him before returning his gaze to the twin. "He is Elrohir, younger twin son of Elrond. You did not know?"

"No." Legolas said, uncomfortable.

"I am Glorfindel of Imladris." the golden-haired elf introduced.

"My name is Esgal." Legolas said instinctively.

He did not say where he was from. He was from nowhere and everywhere. Glorfindel did not comment on his lack of mentioning where he was from, checking Elrohir's pulse one more time before rising to his feet.

"We can move him safely. We have to get him back to Imladris."

He whistled sharply and a horse trotted out from the trees, waiting patiently beside his rider. Glorfindel lifted Elrohir onto the stallion's back. He glanced back at "Esgal" frowning slightly.

"You have no inner light," Glorfindel stated, brow furrowed.

"Yes I do," Legolas said in a rush. "I'm suppressing it."

He still had the startled-deer look on his face, wariness and tension in his every muscle and movement. Still, he remained at Elrohir's side, lingering protectiveness overriding his discomfort with being close to the Vanyar. Glorfindel realized the elf was quite young. He also realized that the ellon's nervousness was not to do with him personally. It was almost like the cloaked elf was wary of his own kind.

_How can that be?_ _Was he born with those eyes and abandoned because of them?_ The Balrog Slayer thought.

His soul rebelled against the thought that an elf would abandon their child because of something so trivial, but he knew that such actions were common for the race of Men. So he merely nodded, mounting up on his horse behind the limp Elrohir.

"Thank you, mellon-nin, for your help. I would like to linger and hear your tale but I need to get Elrohir to his father. Perhaps at a different time we may introduce ourselves properly."

He gave Legolas a sincere, grateful smile. That look, absent of wariness or fear, was instead openly grateful and calm. That open expression was one of acceptance, and it was all Legolas needed to relax.

"You... don't think I'm unnatural?" he asked hesitantly, before he could stop himself.

Glorfindel looked surprised. "Of course not."

Violet eyes and no glow were startling and unique, but not unnatural. He did not voice his thoughts, seeing the elf's insecurities about his unique features. Legolas's eyes rested on Elrohir, a question on his lips. He stifled it, a determined expression replacing his previously young-looking and slightly lost one.

"We need to get moving. I will follow in the trees." he said.

Glorfindel nodded and spurred his horse, racing along the barely visible path. Above him, Legolas leapt from branch to branch, unworried as he fell slightly behind the horse's fast gait. He could catch up whenever the horse was forced to veer or slow because of close-growing trees or uneven ground. He knew where Rivendell was. Now, his main goal was to provide assistance if Glorfindel needed it.

They rode and ran in silence, great stamina being shown by the horse and assassin. The way back was faster than the way there, with the horse's energy renewed by the urgency of his rider. Legolas was the first to sense the others heading towards them. He pushed himself faster, Glorfindel pausing as the assassin appeared behind him.

"Your friends are here." he told the Balrog Slayer.

He leapt back up into the trees. The Vanyar blinked in confusion at the action before his eyes widened with realization. Esgal did not want the other elves to know he was there. Although the Balrog Slayer did not know the mysterious fighter, he instinctively knew he was a good elf, and deserved his discretion. It was because of this that Glorfindel did not look at or mention the shadow in the treetops as a patrol of ten Rivendell warriors burst out of the foliage.

"Lord Glorfindel!" one warrior said. "You rescued him!"

"Yes." the Vanyar said shortly. "The orcs are dead."

He handed Elrohir off to another elf, who sped off with his fresher, less tired horse. The other elves followed suite, with Legolas as a silent shadow above them. Glorfindel was careful not look up. He could not tell if Esgal was still there, or if he had left. Unknown to the Vanyar the assassin was up in the trees above him, staying within hearing range of the elves. The pale blonde-haired elf was currently battling with himself, joy and hope warring with nerves and fear.

He could show himself. He could drop down and catch the attention of the elves. Glorfindel would explain who he was, and how he helped Elrohir. He had the Elf Lord's _acceptance_. His fears seemed to be unfounded. He _should_ reveal himself to the others. Legolas was surprised by the thought, but found himself hesitantly willing to do it.

_Glorfindel accepted me. Without explanation or questions he accepted me, despite what I look like and how well I kill. Perhaps others will as well?_

Just as Legolas was about to emerge from the shadows, a Rivendell warrior spoke in a loud, easily heard voice.

"Bloody orcs. I cannot believe they were once elves. That just goes to prove anything the Shadow touches is corrupted. I cannot wait until the Darkness is destroyed, along with everything it has created." There was rage and utter _loathing_ in the warrior's voice, so deep and unshakable it made the hidden assassin shudder.

Legolas closed his eyes, not moving from the tree limb he stood on. Glorfindel may not have made him spill his secrets and asked about his past, but others would. Others had not seen him defend Elrohir, or witnessed the protectiveness he had over the other elf even when he was scared out of his mind. Questions would be asked, and answers would be demanded if Legolas showed himself to the warriors below him. Glorfindel's support would not be enough to keep them from being suspicious. And suspicious people dug and dug into a person and their past, exposing them until all of their secrets were ripped from them.

The elf studied the warrior that had spoken. He saw bitter hatred and great, overlaying anger in his expression. He would be one of those suspicious people. He was the type to hate all things that were even slightly touched by Shadow.

_Who did you lose?_ The assassin asked the Rivendell elf silently. _Who was killed by the Shadow that you hate it so deeply? But it does not matter._ _I was right._ Legolas thought sadly. _Some of them will not accept me. I cannot show myself now. They are not ready._

Turning away from the Rivendell elves, the assassin vanished into the forest. He would find Glorfindel and talk to him later. But he could not reveal himself yet.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

The return to the Last Homely House transpired just as Glorfindel had predicted. Elrond rushed out in a dignified yet harried way, whisking Elrohir into the healing ward and barking orders at lesser healers as he hurried his son into the house. Glorfindel tasked himself with keeping the stubborn Elladan— his arm in a sling and his shoulder bandaged, still pale from the poison that had been purged from his veins— out of his father's way, guarding the door to the ward and stopping all of the older twin's attempts to get inside.

"Sit down, Elrondion." the Balrog Slayer said firmly, glaring at the younger elf. "You will remain out here until your father is finished."

"He's my brother," Elladan snapped, harsh and angry out of fear for his brother. "I'm a trained healer! I can help!"

"You are injured yourself," Glorfindel pointed out, not budging. "You will only get in the way." The older twin opened his mouth to protest but the golden-haired elf cut him off. "You cannot go inside, Elladan. You know Elrond's rule. Unless it is an emergency, family members should not treat each other's injuries. Knowing the person causes great fear, and fear can lead to fatal mistakes."

Elladan glared at him a moment longer before dropping his gaze. "I know. I just hate waiting and doing nothing."

Glorfindel guided the twin to a chair, allowing him to collapse into it before sitting beside the younger elf. Elladan was trembling, biting his lip as he glanced repeatedly at the door out of the corner of his eye. Glorfindel hugged the twin for the first time since he was an elfling running to him after a nightmare.

"He's going to be all right," the Vanyar soothed.

"He's been unconscious for over twelve hours," Elladan said miserably. "Something must be wrong."

The doors flew open before Glorfindel had to respond. Elrond walked out, face pale and tired. He caught Glorfindels' eyes and nodded once. "He's awake." the Half-Elf said, face pale but relieved. "His leg wound has been taken care of and he has no serious head injury. He was merely in a self-induced healing trance."

"He's okay?" Elladan asked for confirmation.

Elrond laughed, a delightful sound. "Yes. Come in."

The twin ran into the room, his father and Glorfindel following at a slower pace. Elrohir was in a bed at the far side of the ward, leg wrapped in bandages along wit ha wrap around his head. Elladan rushed forward, squeezing his brother tightly.

"Ouch!" Elrohir winced. "Too tight!"

Elladan gave a shaky laugh but did not let go. "Don't ever do that again!"

"Do what?" the younger twin joked. "Get captured by orcs? Or accidentally fall into a healing trance because of a head wound?"

"Both. Never again." his voice shook with barely contained emotion.

Elrohir grimaced, not from pain this time. "Sorry."

Elrond sat beside his sons, bringing them both into his arms. "I am going to lock you in your rooms and never let you out." The Elf Lord claimed.

The twins exchanged a glance before simultaneously groaning in an exaggerated manner.

"But Ada," Elladan cried dramatically. "If you lock us up, we won't be able to visit Daernaneth and she'll be angry."

"I fear losing you more than I fear your Grandmother," Elrond said, only half-joking. He pulled back from the hug, looking at both his sons with tired eyes. "How do you keep finding such trouble?"

Seeing the very real worry in their father's voice and face, the twins sobered.

"You are not going to lose us, Ada." Elrohir said, giving his father another hug.

They stayed together for a moment before Elrond looked at the golden-haired elf who had saved his son. "What happened, Glorfindel? How did you get him away from the orcs? Erestor told me there were almost fifty left."

Elrohir was the only one to notice the slight hesitation before the Balrog Slayer replied.

"The orcs fought each other. Half of them wanted to torture and kill Elrohir—" the entire room winced. "—while the other half knew their master required him to be alive for ransom. By the time the two sides were finished, their numbers had been reduced to ten. They were easy enough to take care of." The Balrog Slayer's voice was dark, eyes glinting.

Elladan and Elrond accepted his explanation, talking with and worrying over Elrohir, but the injured twin was thoughtful behind his smiles and reassurances. For some reason, Glorfindel was hiding something from them, even from Elrond. Elrohir knew that the Balrog Slayer had no intention of informing the Lord of Rivendell of whatever he was being tight-lipped about. The younger twin could tell, because whenever the golden-haired elf wanted to say something without the twins there, he would meet Elrond's eyes for a split second before looking away. This time, Glorfindel had not looked at the Elf Lord at all.

Heaviness entering his limbs, his eyes fluttering closed, Elrohir had one final thought before he let sleep claim him. _What could have possibly happened that Glorfindel won't tell Ada? What secret could be so great that he won't tell his Lord and close friend?_

LOTRLOTRLOTR

Far away in Lothlorien, Galadriel breathed a sigh of relief. "They are all safe." she told Celeborn. "My vision came to pass, but Glorfindel appears to have been able to save young Elrohir."

Her husband looked at her, his normally stoic expression replaced by one of slight confusion. ""Appears"? You do not know?"

The beautiful Elf Lady, looked down at her mirror, a frown marring her features. "Shortly after Elrohir was captured, his future was hidden from me. He was not covered by shadow or light, he was merely... not there. It was like trying to see something through a wall made of stone. Not long after Elrohir's rescue, he reappeared once more. It was almost like something he interacted with was blocking my Sight."

"Only Great Powers of Darkness can block you." Celeborn said in a foreboding tone.

Galadriel shook her head. "No. They cannot block me. They can only hide themselves ins hadow to obscure my sight. That is why I cannot see in Minas Morgul, Mordor, or Dol Guldur. The Shadow cloaks its secrets, obscuring my sight, but it cannot block me like this. If I were not watching over Elrohir, I would not have known about this anomaly. But... there is one thing I can sense."

Galadriel turned, looking at her husband with wise blue eyes. "Someone is watching over the elves. We have a great ally in the forests. When the time is right, we will not find him. He will come to us."

**LOTRLOTRLOTR**

**Translations:**

**Sindarin**

**Ada/Adar: Daddy/Dad/Father**

**Nana/Naneth: Mommy/Mom/Mother**

**Daernaneth: Great-mother (Grandmother)**

**Daeradar: Great-father (Grandfather)**

**Mellon-nin: My friend**

**Black Speech**

**Hoshvuras: (Shortened version of Hoshatvuras) Silent Slayer. **

**Original A/N: How many of you want to slap that Rivendell warrior? (All of the readers raise their hands). I did that to show that some of the elves really ****are**** close-minded fools and that Legolas's fears of rejection aren't unfounded. Some of the elves ****won't**** accept him and ****will**** fear him if he shows himself... Jerks. :(**

**At least Glorfindel knows Esgal exists now. Their encounters are going to be a mix of friendship with a bit of a father/son relationship mixed in. And Elrohir expects the Balrog Slayer is hiding something, plus Galadriel has a vague sense of a mysterious power guarding the elves... ;)**

**Legolas has gained quite the reputation among the orcs and other dark creatures. Like I showed in "Chapter One: In the Depths of Dol Guldur", he can momentarily freeze enemies with his unnatural eyes. That's all the time he needs to take them out.**

**Thank you for all of the brilliant, wonderful reviews for last chapter!**

**Responses to Guest reviews:**

**To "Issy": Thanks! Me too. Sadly, he's not going to know for a while. :( **

**To "Em": Thanks for reviewing!**

**To "Lyria": Thank you! Yeah, he will. Sometime after Aragorn comes in. ;)**

**Please review! Reviews make me very happy! :D**


	9. 8: He Is Coming

**Chapter Eight: "He is Coming"**

_Third Age 2901 (110 years ago...)_

_One more step. One more step. One more step._

Legolas could hear the blood pounding in his ears and feel his heart beating rapidly in his chest. His breathing was harsh and loud in the silence of the forest around him, and his feet stumbled every few steps. Around him the trees cried out wordlessly in worry, unable to assist as he struggled to walk beneath their boughs. Blood dripped between the assassin's pale fingers, which were clutched over the wound on his side.

Legolas was in a forest in the Shire. He had tracked a pack of wayward orcs to the peaceful place and had taken them out. The battle had been easy enough, the orcs falling to his blades faster than they could retaliate. However, the assassin had failed to notice that one of the orcs was a Berserker. When he had turned to leave, the Berserker had stabbed him with a dagger before dying, using his last bit of strength to harm the one who had slain him.

Now Legolas was stumbling through the forest, seriously wounded, with no help nearby. He was barely moving, forcing himself to go forward step by step. He did not know where he was headed, too tired to pay attention to where he was going. He just kept moving forward, forcing himself not to stop.

_One more step. One more step. One more step._

He had not been stabbed in an inherently fatal place, and the wound itself was not that deep. However, it was bleeding heavily, staining the cloak he had pressed over it red. Legolas had a feeling the Berserker had a poison on the dagger that prevented blood from clotting. He just kept bleeding. And bleeding.

_One more step._ He told himself._ Just one more step. One step at a time. I cannot stop. I need to get to help..._

The assassin stumbled another time, black spots dancing across his vision as dizziness overcame him. He breathed rapidly, eyes half closed, and simply lay there on the ground. He was so tired. He did not have the energy to move. Weakness that he had never felt before washed over Legolas and his eyes slipped fully closed, the worried calls of the trees fading into nothingness. Heaviness pressed down on the elf, replacing the lightheaded feeling he had felt, and all awareness fled.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

It was dark, and Legolas was afraid. It was a fear born of confusion, like an instinct in the back of his mind. Something was wrong. He was in a blackness he had never experienced before, the kind that seemed to press down on and suffocate him all at once. No matter what he tried he could not gain awareness of any of his senses. He had no hearing, touch, smell, or taste here. Only the endless, confusing blackness.

Time did not move and nothing seemed to change, but he realized he had been in the darkness longer than he was aware, thoughts only just starting to reenter his mind. Soon after he recalled that he had been injured. He must be unconscious. No, no longer unconscious. He was beginning to wake, his thoughts returning like someone waking from a heavy sleep.

Senses returned, the first being touch, and a dull, aching pain let itself be known. He winced internally, still trapped between oblivion and awareness. Legolas's arm twitched, reacting sluggishly. His limbs felt heavy and stiff, unwilling to follow his mind's commands. He had to get up. He needed to know what had happened. He had been bleeding to death, but now he was not. What had happened?

Legolas's fingers brushed against his side, feeling the bump of bandages under his shirt. Someone had found him, and treated his wounds. Where they still there? The elf forced his eyes open. They had been closed? He had not even noticed. He winced as bright light blinded him, blinking fiercely. His vision quickly adjusted, revealing a light blue sky, broken by the green leaves above. He was still in the forest then. A quick scan of the area revealed no one nearby. Legolas briefly wondered if this was how some of the people he rescued felt when they woke up alone.

The elf touched the carefully wrapped bandages again. Should he move and try to find the one who helped him? His ability to tell if someone was near was severely hindered at the moment, dizziness and exhaustion making him tired and slow. He sat up, grimacing, and his violet eyes swept the area once more. He spotted movement, still quite far away, but he did not tense in the slightest. He recognized the two small— one child-sized and the other even smaller than that— heading towards him. Two hobbits had found him.

Legolas liked hobbits, though he had never interacted with one before. They were a cheerful, simple yet complex people, content with the lives of farming, fishing, and eating they lived. They did not seek power, or manipulate each other for personal gain. And although they were against what they called "queerness" and few wished to leave the Shire and have an adventure, they were a good, welcoming people. They loved each other, food, and growing things, though they sometimes liked to spread rumors and tall tales, not out of malice but faulty communication and a love for gossip.

They were the one race in Middle-earth that truly remained untouched by the Shadow, the orcs and other servants of Sauron not bothering with the far-off Shire. Legolas hoped that the Shadow kept away from the peaceful realm for as long as possible. That was why he had hunted those orcs so fiercely. They had ended up on the wrong side of the river near Bree, and had unintentionally been headed towards the oblivious hobbits. The average hobbit truly was oblivious in many things, and Legolas wanted to keep them from knowing the pain of battle and the fear of the Shadow for a little while longer.

That was why he did not tense when he saw the two hobbits heading towards him. Not only did they already help him, but they had the cheerful, innocent auras of those who did not seek something in return for their assistance. They were the best of hobbits, through and through. Legoals could tell.

The sound of a female voice, raised in scolding, reached the elf's ears. "I told you to stay with him. Why must you wander off the moment my back is turned?"

"There was a bird, Mama." the young voice of a child— a boy— replied. "I just wanted to see her nest."

His mother sighed. "You favor the Took blood within you, my son. I must be less Tookish than I once was. You've given me more grey hairs—" The hobbit and her son entered the clearing, the mother spotting Legolas. "Ah! You're awake!"

The child squeaked and hid behind his mother's skirt. The mother ignored her son's shyness, rushing forward with the tiny hobbit clinging to her dress. She set down her basket, fussing about Legolas and reminding the elf of a worried hen.

"We found you wounded here. Its a relief you are awake. I was just off getting more herbs to help your blood clot. Nasty wound you have. Is it paining you? How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine madame," Legolas said . "Thank you for helping me."

"It was no problem at all, dear." she said.. Oh! How rude of me. I haven't even told you our names. I am Belladonna Took. And this little one is Bilbo Baggins, my son."

The tiny Halfling clung to his mother's skirt, peering around her leg at Legolas before hiding once more. Legolas smiled kindly at the boy. The tiny hobbit put his thumb in his mouth, sucking it anxiously.

"Hello, little one." the elf greeted. "My name is Esgal."

Bilbo took the thumb out of his mouth. "Hello. Its nice to meet you." the appendage returned to its previous position.

"Stop that," Belladonna chided, taking out the thumb and frowning. "You'll make your teeth grow in crooked. You'll never get a fine lady if you have an odd smile."

"I don't want a lady," Bilbo proclaimed. "Girls are weird. And loud. And throw temper tantrums. And wear frilly things. And—"

"Need I remind you that I am a girl?" Belladonna asked, expression stern but with a hint of amusement.

Bilbo did not notice the teasing in her expression or voice. He shook his head rapidly, hands clapped over his mouth and eyes wide. "Not you, Mama! You're nice and make wonderful berry pies and aren't loud or strange at all!" The hobbit looked at Legolas, a contemplative look on his face. "Gandalf says that Elves glow in the dark," Bilbo said curiously, changing the discussion so quickly the elf was taken aback. "But you don't."

"I am suppressing my glow," Legolas explained.

He mentally berated himself for not realizing his hood was down, his face, ears and hair revealed. He had gotten used to not wearing the hood and cloth over his face when he was with Glorfindel, enough that he had not noticed that his features were exposed. At least the hobbit-child was commenting on his lack of a glow, not his glowing violet eyes.

"Why?"

"In my... line of work, I sometimes need to hide, and that is hard to do when I glow in the dark."

"What do you do?"

"I kill monsters."

Bilbo's eyes grew huge. "Really?"

"Yes, really." Legolas said, lips twitching.

Before he knew it, the tiny boy was sitting on his right leg looking up at him with wide, excited eyes. "Can you tell me a story about one of your battles?"

The assassin hesitated a moment, looking at Belladonna for permission. She only nodded, and Legolas was touched that she trusted him enough to not scare her child with his tales of battle. The elf told Bilbo a child-friendly version of one of his many battles with orcs. He kept out the blood and gore, along with the true terrifying presence orcs could have, but was also careful not to glorify or make light of the battle. War and adventures were not all fun and games, and Legolas believed that children should be at least partially aware of that. When they were older and had adventures of their own, they would not be caught off guard.

While he was speaking, Belladonna undid his bandages, putting a herb-paste over the thin wound before re-wrapping it. Legolas barely noticed her, so deeply he was focused on telling the attentive Bilbo the tale. By the time the story was finished the excitement in Bilbo's gaze had been replaced by awe and a slight glimmer of understanding.

"You've fought a lot of monsters haven't you?" he said perceptively. "You're very brave."

Legolas blinked, stunned by the praise. "I do not think so. This is just what I do."

Bilbo's expression said he did not believe him. Then his attention shifted, as the minds of children often do. "Do your elf friends think you not having a glow is odd?"

"Bilbo!" Belladonna said sharply.

The child looked confused by her tone. "I'm just asking. Cause whenever someone doesn't act like a respectable hobbit here, other people don't really like them sometimes. I was wondering if the elves don't like differences too."

During Bilbo's short speech, Legolas was debating whether to tell the truth or not. He looked again at Belladonna, who stared back with open concern in her eyes. Hobbits really were amazing creatures. They were so simple and complex all at once, content with their lives like few others could be. And here was two particular hobbits who he had just met, rescuing him and welcoming him, accepting him like an old friend.

"I do not interact with many elves. They are not even aware that I exist," the assassin said at last. "One, Lord Glorfindel, accepts me for who and what I am, but I know many others will not."

Belladonna's eyes lit up with a deep understanding, and she put a hand on his arm. "I will not tell anyone I met you," the hobbit promised softly. "I can tell you truly do not wish to be known by your Elven kin."

"You are right," Legolas admitted. "I am less against meeting certain elves, but I am still not quite comfortable with the idea."

His friendship with Glorfindel had helped Legolas better understand elves and their heritage. Their friendship had been a slow-building one, the assassin staying up in the treetops and talking to Glorfindel for their first few meetings. The Balrog Slayer had given him his space, sitting beneath the tree and talking up to him, without requesting personal information or demanding answers out of him. It had been nice, just to talk about the stars, forests, family and friends. Then, one day, Legolas had found himself sitting beside the Vanyar. He was not sure how it had happened, but a few meetings of talking and experiencing Glorfindel's open, cheerful nature had let the assassin unknowingly trust him. It had taken a while, but the trust had been formed. However, Legolas was not ready to reveal himself yet. Some deep instinct kept him from accepting Glorfindel's invitation to officially visit Rivendell. Or should he say, someone did.

He had spotted the elf who hated all things touched by the Shadow a few times while sneaking about the Hidden Valley, and had heard a couple stories from Glorfindel. Apparently the elf, Amulug, had lost his wife, brother, sister, and parents many hundreds of years ago. They had been killed by the Witch-King, in an unexpected attack between Lothlorien and Rivendell. That was back when the Shadow was just starting to return, only a tiny whisper in the back of the minds of elves in the two Ring-protected realms. The family had been in the misty Mountains when they were ambushed by orcs. Amulug had only survived because he fell off a small cliff, blacking out when he hit the bottom. When he awoke, the elves had found him, and his family was gone.

Rather than fade, Amulug became vengeful, seeking out and destroying any orcs or remnants of the Shadow he came across. This occasionally put patrols he was in in unnecessary danger. Yet the elves could not deny him his vengeance. The twin sons of Elrond had had a similar mission long ago. The only difference was that Amulug did not hunt orcs, and happened to become bloodthirsty and wild whenever he saw the creatures. He attacked any who were touched by or followed the Shadow with a extreme prejudice, not waiting for explanations or heeding orders to stand down.

Despite this, a few Rivendell warriors and even a couple from Lothlorien were willing to follow the elf without question. While he was twisted and possibly not right in the head, Amulug was also charismatic. Hearing about him, Legolas was reminded of Drust and his goons in Blue Harbor. If the warriors were human, they would have been cast out of the city, but they were elves, and they lived in Rivendell. Even with the leniency of Lord Elrond, the relationship between the general populace and those warriors were strained. For that reason and the still-lingering nerves about rejection, Legolas would avoid the elves for now.

"Don't worry about Bilbo. If he tells anyone they will just think it's a child's imagination." Belladonna added, pulling him out of his thoughts.

Bilbo pouted, crossing his arms over his chest. "I won't tell anyone!" he said earnestly. "I promise."

Looking at his small, genuine face, Legolas could not help but believe him.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

Gandalf the Grey was in no hurry to get to Mirkwood. There was no urgent message to deliver, no battles to fight, and no impending doom to warn about. He was merely going to the darkened forest to visit old friends, and see how the Royal Family was faring. Thranduil's hatred of and drive to destroy the Shadow had not wavered and he and his kin were still intolerant of most non-elven strangers, but the King was becoming less quick to anger and letting his kingly mask drop at times. He still never laughed, sometimes woke with nightmares, and was rather more brusque than he had once been, but not as badly as he had suffered for the past three hundred seventy years.

The Wizard did not know whether that meant the Sindar was healing. He hoped that was the case. Gandalf was only aware of the changes in Thranduil because Tollui, one of Thranduil's friends and advisers, had been keeping him and Elrond updated on any changes. The adviser never revealed any confidential or personal information, only basic, truthful facts about his leader's health. So he decided to go to Mirkwood, to see his old friend. Because that was what friends did, after all. They worried and checked up on each other.

The entrance to the palace was just ahead. Gandalf was surprised that he had not had any encounters with Spiders or orcs on his journey. He had presumed he would be attacked at least once on his journey. Perhaps the elves were winning against the Darkness more than they thought. Fael and another elf— Heled, the Wizard believed his name was— met him just inside the gate.

"Well met, Mithrandir." Fael greeted, bowing slightly. "A patrol told us you were coming."

"Did they now? I didn't even notice them. Every time I travel to Mirkwood, the Wood-Elves are even better at hiding in the trees than the last time." Gandalf said.

Although his lips twitched, the Prince spoke formally. "The King is currently in a meeting with his advisers and will greet you later."

"That is suitable," Gandalf replied. "I am in no hurry."

Now that formalities were over with, Fael's face morphed from serious into an easy smile. "It is truly good to see you, Mithrandir. You just missed lunch but you must be hungry after your journey. I'm sure Cook will make something for you."

"That would be greatly appreciated." the Wizard said.

He dismounted from his horse, staff in one hand and the reins in the other. Heled took the reins from the Istar, guiding the grey horse to the stalls. Fael walked at Gandalf's side, the Wizard's staff tapping on the floor with ever other step.

"How are you, Fael?" Gandalf questioned the Prince. "Have you pulled any pranks on your siblings lately?"

Fael smiled the tiniest bit, though a sadness had entered his gaze. "No. I have not. I think I would like to, honestly, but my siblings are less easygoing than they once were. If I pranked Aglar or Megilag I would be punished severely. Bereneth would snap at me and storm off. Barhad would probably laugh. It's just..." he sighed, looking up at the stone ceiling above them. "Pranking just doesn't interest me anymore."

Gandalf placed a hand on the young-yet-old ellon beside him, squeezing his shoulder gently. "I hope you can find happiness again someday, Fael. You and your family."

"We'll see," Fael murmured, and his eyes were distant. "I met Radagast a few hundred years ago. During the major flood I fell into the river."

The Wizard waited patiently for him to continue, wondering why the Prince had brought up his fellow Istar.

"I was drowning. Dying." the silver-haired elf said darkly. "I blacked out before Radagast pulled me out. But... before I lost consciousness... I thought I saw Legolas. He was coming towards me, reaching for my hands as if to pull me to safety... but it turns out I was just imagining things."

"Perhaps not." Gandalf said. "When one is near death, they sometimes see the spirits of loved ones who passed on. Then again, you mind may have been seeing what it wished, when in reality Radagast was the one reaching for you." the Wizard frowned. "Though I cannot imagine the Brown Wizard jumping into a flooded river to save people. Animals, yes, but not elves."

"Radagast has changed since he rescued me," Fael told him. "He's much more helpful in our fight against the Shadow. He tells us where patrols are, has given a few outlying villages small protection spells, and has even trained a couple animals to send warnings if orcs are coming. And guide elves through the forest if they are lost "

The Grey Wizard's eyebrows crept up his forehead. "Oh really? I am happy to hear that my fellow Wizard is taking a more active stance in the fight against the Darkness. I was beginning to worry he would abandon our mission."

Fael nodded absently in agreement, mind far away. "I remember seeing Radagast once when I was younger. He seems more... _determined_ nowadays. It's like he found the motivation to fight. He still does the little things for the forest and animals, of course. I also think he's trying to learn more powerful magic."

"I will go visit him once I am done here then." Gandalf said. "If he is trying to learn new spells, I will assist him."

The Grey Wizard was very pleased that Radagast was finally following their mission. The Brown Wizard was his close friend, but he was sometimes skittish at best, terrified at worst when he encountered the Shadow. Now it seemed that Radagast's fear was gone, replaced by a drive to openly fight the servants of Sauron. Gandalf wondered what had changed his fellow Wizard.

The Elf Prince and Grey Wizard entered the kitchen, where Fael spoke quickly to the cook. The elleth nodded once before barking orders at her underlings, who scurried about putting together a suitable meal for the Istar. Fael and Gandalf went into the small dining room to the side of the kitchen, meant for general meals. They sat down at the table.

"How was your journey?" the green-eyed elf asked. "Did you run into any trouble?"

"Surprisingly, no." Gandalf said. ""My trip through Mirkwood was wonderfully uneventful."

"There are less orc and Spider attacks than many presume." Fael replied as if he had read the Wizard's secret thoughts. "Someone is still killing off many servants of the Shadow, and we have no idea who or what he is. We would not even know someone was out there if not for the dead enemy patrols we find."

"It seems someone is watching over this forest," Gandalf mused. "It is odd that he does not reveal himself to you." he thought about what the Prince had said. "You said that you find "patrols". What size patrols do you speak of?"

"Twenty, thirty orcs is the average." Fael said with a shrug.

Gandalf looked at him in shock. "You said "he" killed orcs, not "they". A single person has slain multiple, good-sized patrols of orcs by himself?!"

"Yes." the Prince said. "We were shocked too, the first time we studied the corpses. The footprints, scuff marks, and wounds suggest a single person killed all of the orcs in the patrols. Whoever he is, he is a powerful warrior."

"Indeed." the Wizard mused, lighting his pipe.

Fael wrinkled his nose. "Must you smoke that in here?"

Gandalf sighed and put out the pipe, looking down at it almost mournfully. "Forgive my thoughtlessness. I forget how greatly elves dislike smoking."

"It smells terrible. And it burns my eyes." Fael said bluntly, though he had a small grin on his face.

The cook entered the room, frowning as the tiny hint of smoke-smell reached her nose. She glanced at Gandalf disapprovingly, tutted once, and set a tray with tea and stew in front of Gandalf. There was enough for Fael and Gandalf both. Plus three hobbits, four dwarves, and half of the Royal household. Cook always did try to fatten up people who looked too thin. And both the Wizard was on that list.

"Thank you." Fael said gratefully.

The cook bowed and left them, eager to get away from the smell her sensitive nose could still pick up. Fael poured a cup of tea and turned back to Gandalf.

"I cannot understand how you can smoke such disgusting gunk, Mithrandir." the Prince said gravely, a hint of his old mischief appearing in his sparkling green eyes.

"Hmph." Gandalf huffed. "Elves can know and understand many things. The fineness of Longbottom Leaf is not one of them."

Fael laughed, a musical sound, reaching forward as if to give the cup to the Wizard...

LOTRLOTRLOTR

Far away in Minas Morgul, the Witch-King prowled through the dark halls of his tower. He felt more at home in the dark place than he had ever felt, the Darkness in each stone growing stronger than It had ever been. For a while, almost two hundred years ago, he had been worried that the Darkness was fading. Each time he had left Minas Morgul, he had returned to find the Darkness that cloaked the tower in various states of unrest and shock. The Nazgûl Lord had feared something was wrong with his tower's power, that some form of Light was sabotaging it. His fears had been unfounded.

One hundred ninety years ago, he had returned to Minas Morgul to find the Darkness stronger than ever. Rather than rippling and whispering through the halls, it pulsed and raged, bringing a heavy darkness over the tower that would cause the weaker Free People of Middle-earth to collapse with plagues of Shadow and nightmares, and the stronger to quail and tremble. The very stones of the tower exuded Darkness like an impenetrable fog. Only lamps made from the Witch-King's Dark Magic could penetrate the gloom and darkness, but even then, the halls were almost as dark as a starless, moonless night.

Not only was the tower darker and more powerful, but its inhabitants were as well. Orcs and goblins born and residing in Minas Morgul were fiercer, stronger, and even more savage. Their eyes glittered with fragments of the darkness, their fangs longer and their claws sharper than any orcs the Nazgûl Lord had ever seen. Every orc that passed through the tower was affected, coming out more evil than they were when they went in, if that was possible.

The Witch-King had been too busy carrying out his master's orders to investigate the change in the Darkness, and explore it himself. But there were no orcs to observe, villages to raze, or people to hunt today. Which meant he could finally sate his curiosity, and try to understand the Darkness. He sat in his room at the top of the tower, Dark Spells and words of Evil dripping from his tongue. He did not have a body, but his consciousness shifted out of his cloaked form, touching the Darkness carefully. He had to tread with caution, for even though he worshiped and was a creature of the Shadow, the Darkness may still attack and try to destroy him. Prepared to back out quickly if need be, the Witch-King entered the Darkness around him. Chaos, rage, bitterness, lust, strife, cruelty, and savage glee rushed through him, the emotions and essence of the Darkness touching whatever remained of his mutilated soul.

The Darkness was almost content, happy and eager, its energy roaring and pulsing in waves of evil so great the Witch-King almost lost the connection from shock. How could the Darkness be so powerful? It was wonderful and exhilarating, yes, but It should not have this _much_. Curious, the Witch-King tried to trace the waves of Darkness, searching for Its source. It had to have a source, because the Darkness could not be this great. It had never been this potent, not even when Minas Morgul had been at its greatest.

There! There was something there, hidden within the Darkness of Minas Morgul. The tower's Darkness cloaked and caressed the other like a shield of energy, loving what It hid yet hating It at the same time. The Witch-King approached the epicenter of the storm of evil with great care. He could sense the Darkness's protectiveness of what It hid. To his surprise, the Darkness did not try to hide what powered It. Instead, It moved aside, letting him have a clear sense of it.

"It" was another Darkness, trapped within an odd shield. The Nazgûl Lord could sense the power and ancient energy that created the shield, keeping the other Darkness imprisoned. The shield was so strong and impenetrable that the Witch-King was confused. How could Minas Morgul's Darkness reach this other power? He skimmed along the edge of the shield, careful not to touch it. It was too ancient and great, and he knew if he touched it he would burn to ash, Ringwraith or not.

It was then he "saw" it. A tiny hairline crack was in the shield, the other Darkness leaking from it like water dripped from a cracked dam. The Witch-King could sense the pressure behind that spot, he other Darkness pushing against the shield with all Its might. Yet It was still trapped, and that angered It. The Nazgûl Lord could sense Its wrath. It wanted freedom. It wanted _out_.

Its need was so great that the Witch-King touched the crack, without a second thought. The other Darkness focused on him, all of Its massive attention pressing down on the Ringwraith. It reeled and roared, surging under his hand. Then, using the Witch-King's presence as a focus point, It slammed into the crack. The crack did not widen, but the witch-King felt some more of the other Darkness come through. It plowed into him like a battering ram, and would have sent his consciousness flying if It had not kept him in place. The Darkness of the Shadow covered his vision, and a deep, cruel voice spoke in his mind.

_**You are mine.**_

The Witch-King smiled, recognizing the Darkness he had found, and laughed even as his will was overcome.

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...The teacup slipped from Fael's limp fingers, shattering on the stone floor. Gandalf flinched at the noise, clutching his staff with one hand and his heart with the other.

"I have never known an elf to be clumsy, Prince Fael," he chided, looking down at the shards of glass on the floor.

"_He is coming._" Fael said.

Gandalf paused mid-step, whirling around to raise his eyebrows at the Prince. "What was that?"

Fael's expression cleared and he frowned at the Wizard. "What was what?"

"You just said "He is coming"." Gandalf said sternly. "Who— or what— were you speaking of?"

Fael looked at him like he was mad. "I do not recall saying anything. Are you sure you haven't been smoking too much pipeweed Mithrandir?"

The Wizard did not return his smile.

"Hmm." Gandalf only hummed vaguely in response.

He let it go, and the rest of his visit went without incident. But Gandalf never forgot the words, or the the haunting, ominous tone in which they had been spoken. Something very wrong and terrible had awoken in the world, and as the years passed and the Wizard had time to mull over the unexpected phrase and identify it for the warning that it was.

_He is coming._

**LOTRLOTRLOTR**

**A/N: Guesswhatguesswhatguesswhat?! This story got to 100 reviews last chapter! YAAAAAAYYYYYYYY! I'm so happy! I LOVE YOU ALLLLLLLLLLL! :D :D :D**

**Young Bilbo was sort of based on my young cousin. Sometimes she can do the same thing for hours, other times she is easily distracted by whatever catches her attention. I'll be playing a game with her or something and she'll ask a random question about something she just noticed. It keeps me on my toes. I kinda feel dumb when she asks something and I go "Huh?" cause we were talking about or doing something completely unrelated to her question. :P**

**Responses to Guest reviews:**

**To "Guest" (1): Thank you! :D**

**To "Issy": Thanks for reviewing! The "idiots" as you call them, may be more dangerous than you think... ;)**

**To "lyria": Thanks!**

**To "Phoebe": Thank you! Next chapter will have some Glorfindel and Legolas bonding/friendship.**

**To "Guest" (2): Thanks! Half the things you said in the first paragraph are actually going to happen. I would research Legolas's fighting style if I could remember the name of it. Maybe if I type in "fighting style based on evasion" in Google it will come up... I read a couple of the stories you mentioned but the other ones sound good. I'll go check them out. **


	10. 9: The Heir of Isildur

**Chapter Nine: The Heir of Isildur**

_Third Age 2931 (80 years ago...)_

Legolas was as content as someone who had little memory of his family or past could be. He was visiting Glorfindel in Imladris, sitting in the trees with the Balrog-Slayer and laughing as the oak the Vanyar perched on tried to playfully shake him off. Glorfindel clung to the tree with as much dignity as he could, glaring at Esgal with narrowed blue eyes. The other elf, his hood and cloth down to expose his features, looked back at him, his own violet eyes sparking with mirth.

"You're putting it up to this!" the Vanyar accused. "Tell it to stop! It won't listen to me!"

"I am doing nothing, mellon-nin," the Wood-Elf said innocently. "The tree does not like heavy warriors sitting in its boughs." His face showed nothing but blamelessness, but the Balrog-Slayer knew that the assassin was laughing inside.

"Are you calling me fat?" Glorfindel asked stiffly still clutching the branch like a new rider clung to a wild horse.

Wide, mock-hurt violet eyes looked at him. "I would never call the Great, Powerful, Mysterious, Wise, _Legendary_ Glorfindel of Imladris _fat_. I am only commenting that Rivendell warriors such as yourself have a bit more brawn than humble Wood Elves."

"...I think I liked you better when you hid in the trees and refused to come down." Glorfindel muttered without malice.

He was quite happy with how much the other had changed since they had first met. It had taken years for the assassin to gain the confidence to even sit near the Balrog-Slayer, so twitchy and on edge was the young elf. Once Glorfindel got Esgal to open up, the other had been quite sociable, smiling small smiles, chattering, and teasing the Vanyar to no end. He still carried a hint of his old nervousness, and it still resurfaced from time to time, but he was much more relaxed and trusting with the Balrog-Slayer.

"Why oh _why_ did I teach you how to joke?" the Vanyar sighed. "I get enough teasing from the twins! You'd get along well."

Like a switch being flicked, Esgal became withdrawn, looking at the ground and twirling a fallen twig between his fingers. His expression blanked out like a slate being wiped clean, revealing none of his thoughts. Glorfindel knew what he was thinking though. "I don't know..."

Glorfindel decided he had lost his battle with the tree, leaping down to the ground before it could make him descend and land in an undignified heap to the forest floor. Instantly, the shaking stopped, and the Balrog-Slayer swore the tree was feeling smug. Esgal landed beside him, settling himself on the ground and patting the tree's trunk. He avoided the other's blue eyes, focusing on the thin limbs as they curled around his hand and forearm.

"You would get along, and be great friends." Glorfindel said firmly. "Though I fear that once I introduce you, the twins will use your sneaking skills to prank all of the Hidden Valley, and we would all be _doomed_."

"I... would like to meet them someday." Esgal confessed with one of his small, reminiscent smiles. "But... not yet."

Glorfindel sighed, accepting defeat— for now— and not pushing the assassin, but studied the younger with a serious expression. "You still have that _feeling_, don't you?"

"Yes." the violet-eyed elf admitted. He and the Vanyar had had this conversation before. It all sprung from the same deep-set, unexplainable instinct that had been haunting him for the past thirty years. "I _want_ to show myself to the other elves— I really do— but something keeps holding me back. Its not fear of rejection from the masses anymore. I no longer care what the general populace thinks, but the instinct to remain hidden is still there. Its like... if I show myself now, something _terrible_ will happen. If the feeling weren't so strong, I would ignore it. Its similar to when the trees speak to me, but it is different as well. Its like a warning..." Esgal looked at him with young yet old eyes. "Does that make sense?"

"Perhaps the Valar intend for you to stay hidden for a little longer," Glorfindel said, thoughtful. "Right now, few people know you exist. Many in Mirkwood suspect, but few _know_. Maybe there is a reason. Either way, it will be your decision when you want to reveal yourself. Yours, and no one else's." The Balrog-Slayer stood, clapping his hands together once. "Never mind that now. Would you like to spar, Esgal?"

The assassin rose with hesitant grace. "I always kill, maim, injure, or knock out my opponents," he said uncomfortably. "I have not _sparred_ in over three hundred years! What if I hurt you?"

Glorfindel did not laugh off his concern as some might have done. Instead he was thoughtful, seriously considering Esgal's worries. The Balrog-Slayer knew how deadly and dangerous his friend was. The violet-eyed elf had done nothing but kill and incapacitate his opponents for hundreds of years. He never practiced his skills with a partner. Esgal only went through the motions on his own, and fought constantly enough that practice to keep his skills sharp was not entirely necessary.

"You won't," the Balrog-Slayer said confidently. "I trust you not to, even with your... instincts." He paused, mulling over his thoughts before speaking. "...Could you teach me any of it? Your fighting style?"

Before meeting the assassin, Glorfindel would have thought that a fighting style based on evasion would be ineffective against a strong, fast warrior. However, Esgal was a master in his style, using it more in his relatively few years than many elven warriors did in their own long lifetimes. Elves learned to fight when war came about, or when the Shadow lingered. Esgal was brought up fighting from the young age of five, almost _born_ to kill. His fighting style was a part of him, almost like an art, an intricate dance that few could learn.

"You will not be able to do many of the moves I can," Esgal said slowly. "You cannot bend and move like I do: you do not have the speed or flexibility. But I can teach you other things, like my knowledge of pressure-points and some basic dodges and retaliations for if you lose your sword in battle. If you are willing to learn them, of course."

"I am." Glorfindel stated, grinning like a child who had just received a present. "First, I'll help you to relearn how to spar. Then, I'd like to learn some of those moves."

Esgal mirrored his eager smile, the nervousness leaving his eyes. Glorfindel trusted him not to hurt him, and was curious of his knowledge, despite its assassin-like nature. Thanks to his friendship with the Vanyar, the assassin knew that not all elves were as perfect, mysterious, and Light as outsiders believed. Glorfindel had his moments of bloodthirsty rage— specifically when orcs hurt someone dear to him—, told jokes, and cursed like a human sailor when provoked. While some like the Lady of the Light were the image of what men and dwarves thought elves acted like, most elves were as diverse, mixed, and sometimes flawed as the other races. It made them more... familiar in a way.

What Legolas said was true. If not for that foreboding feeling he could not explain, he would have revealed himself to the elves long ago. Thanks to Glorfindel he no longer feared rejection from the masses because of his lack of an inner light. Because of the elf he no longer thought his skills in assassination and his ability to freeze enemies with his eyes were unnatural for an elf. Truth be told, he wanted to meet the other elves he had only watched from a distance, like Elrohir, Elladan, Elrond, Erestor, and even that elf Fael that he had saved long ago. But the dread and warning would not fade, and so he remained hidden. He decided, for now, it was better to remain a secret weapon and ally in the shadows, rather than emerge into the light.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

Legolas was in a good mood when he bade Glorfindel farewell. He had not only been able to teach the Balrog-Slayer a few of his hindering pressure-point techniques, but they had sparred without the assassin slipping up. At first, the violet-eyes elf had been tense and awkward in his movements, so afraid of hurting the other was he. Glorfindel had not pushed him as much as he could, knowing how dangerous doing so would be, instead letting Legolas gradually become comfortable with sparring, without the need to maim, knock out, or kill. The assassin had quickly remembered his old sparring lessons with Ciaran, and fighting for practice and fun became easier after that.

The assassin had won three times, and Glorfindel won once. Then again, that had been early on, and was only because Legolas had been unsure of himself. It was a relief to know that he was capable of fighting without knocking out, hurting, or killing his opponent. He had still used basic restraining moves in the spar, but no pressure points to incapacitate. For a moment, he had not been an assassin, merely a warrior sparring with his friend to test their skills and have fun. It had been nice.

Now it was time for him to go. Legolas had been in Imladris for the past week, and with no more orcs in the area, it was time for him to leave. He was and always would be a free spirit, not content with staying in one place for long. Mirkwood was the exception, of course. It truly was his home, and he would always go there to unwind or if he needed to think. Still, Legolas continued to travel around Middle-earth, making sure to visit Bilbo in Hobbiton and Glorfindel in Imladris at least once a year.

Glorfindel never changed, but the elf could see Bilbo gradually aging. He still had plenty of life left, but the fact that the little hobbit-child he had met was gone sometimes saddened Legolas, and made him recall the grief of mortality. Once again he was reminded of Ciaran, and wondered if it truly was wise to attach himself to mortals. Belladonna had already passed, two years ago now. The grief was still fresh in Legolas's mind, though it had not hindered him like the abruptness of Ciaran's passing. Belladonna had known she was dying, wasting away because of a sickness in her bones. Legolas and Bilbo had had time to prepare, but her death still hurt fiercely. Bilbo still had time left, yes, but one day he too would die, his life only a flicker of a candle in the expanse of Legolas's long immortal life...

The elf's sixth sense tingled. He snapped to attention, halting in the treetops as his head whipped to the right. He did not even need to think, bow drawn and arrow notched to the string as he raced towards the familiar, evil presences. He had been _sure_ there were no orcs nearby. In fact, he _knew_ there had not been any this morning. The elf closed his eyes, focusing, listening to the trees and nature around him. His sixth sense heightened, picking up each individual presence. He counted nineteen orcs, the same number of wargs and... three— no, _four_— humans.

Legolas headed towards the spot, pausing in the edge of the trees. He could see every detail of the scene in front of him. Only feet from the trees, three humans— two males, one female— were surrounded by the orcs and wargs. They were dirty and tired, obviously having run a long way. One male was on the ground, pale and bleeding heavily from a wound on his side. Even from his perch Legolas could see the tired, fading look in his eyes. It was obvious he was dying.

The woman— his wife?— lay next to him, eyes blank and glassy. She was young, and had been beautiful once, but years of travel had worn down her face, exposure to the elements aging her beyond her years. She already gone. Finally, there was the second man— older than the woman, younger than the dying man— standing tense in the center of the circle. Legolas recognized the cloak of a Ranger, and admired the man's courage as he glared at the orcs, clutching a bundle to his chest...

...Valar forbid was that a _baby_?!

A feral growl escaped the elf's lips and the closest warg flinched, looking around nervously for whatever had caused that predatory sound. Its rider cuffed it, making it still and turn back to the humans. Legolas plucked two more arrows, holding them to his bow, one each between his fingers. He sighted carefully. He did not know why the orcs were waiting until the man on the ground died to attack the Ranger and the babe he held. Perhaps they wanted something from the Ranger, or just wanted him to see the other man die. Or maybe, like savage animals, they wanted him to be afraid and begging before they killed him. It did not matter.

The man on the ground gurgled and gasped, drawing his final breath before passing. Legolas drew back and fired, all three arrows hitting their targets. The arrows were silent-killers, not whistling or making a sound as they passed through the air like deadly, taloned birds. As soon as the first three were released, three more were in their place, flying though the air and felling wargs and their riders.

The Ranger reacted first, racing towards the trees through the clear path Legolas had made for him. The wargs howled and ran after the human, a couple tripping over their dead kin as they chased him towards the forest. The Ranger was fast on his feet, dodging arrows like an elf and protecting the bundle he carried with his own body. As he passed beneath the assassin's perch, Legolas leapt down from the trees, pulling down his hood so the man could see he was an elf.

"Rivendell is north of here." he said rapidly. "Get the child there. I will hold them off. Go."

"Thank you." the man gasped and continued running, his tired body finding new strength.

Legolas spun to the left, shooting a warg that tried to run past him, turning to the right and felling another. Two more died the same way before the orcs decided converging on and slaying the archer would be to their benefit. He would be easy to take out, and then they could pursue their prey without problems. Or so they thought.

Legolas unsheathed his knives, leaping forward and plunging one blade into a warg's head, another into its rider's chest. He spun, ducking, and grabbed a spear that was stabbed at him. He jerked it free of its owner's hold, throwing it at another orc that tried to get into the woods, and striking the owner's throat with his knife. He shot another warg, letting it crush its rider beneath it, kicking another orc off its mount and smiling grimly as the beast ran headlong into a tree.

Two more Warg Riders ran at the elf, snarling and snapping rabidly. The elf watched them coolly, waiting. They swung at him with swords, and he ducked beneath their blades, lunging upright to slash both wargs down their sides as they ran past. The beasts fell, one orc trapped while the other flew free of his mount. Rapid and merciless, Legolas flew through the enemies, knives a blur as he finished off any survivors.

He went still, counting the bodies, and cursed. One orc and warg pair was missing. Taking to the trees, he ran after the Ranger and the one surviving Rider that pursued him and the child. He had seen how tired the Ranger was, and how he had had only a hunting knife for a weapon. He would not be able to outrun the Rider, and he would not last long in a fight.

_Protect them,_ he told the trees. _Protect them, please!_

_Its too late_, they whispered, voices sad and low in grief. _He is injured._

_No!_

Legolas's sharp eyes zeroed in on the black form of the orc, standing over the Ranger as he lay helpless on the ground. The orc was covered with odd scratches on his face and chest, but stood smirking over the fallen man. Silent as a shadow, the assassin leapt down from the trees, slamming into the orc with his knives buried into the monster's shoulder and side. The orc staggered, roaring in shock and its mount pounced at Legolas. The elf twisted smoothly out of the warg's path, stabbing it through the eye before kicking the orc's head so hard its neck snapped.

The orc had not yet fallen to the ground when the elf was at the Ranger's side, kneeling beside him. The Ranger was breathing heavily, face ashen and blood trickling from his lips. A crimson stain on his tunic over his abdomen told Legolas of his injury. The elf put pressure on the wound.

"Hold on, mellon-nin. I will get you help."

"No—" the Ranger gasped. "The b-boy—" He tried to rise, barely moving before collapsing back to the ground.

"Where is he?" Legolas asked, seeing the Ranger would only rest when he knew the baby was safe.

One hand rose shakily, pointing at a tree. The elf spotted a space beneath its roots, just big enough o fit something small. He rose and approached it, noting how the tree's limbs were curled unnaturally downward, as if they were spears ready to stab.

_I would not let it near_, the tree said proudly, brandishing its sharp branches. _I scratched it when it came close._

_Well done, my friend_, Legolas said to it, relief obvious in his tone.

He knelt down and the tree roots shifted, opening up and revealing the baby sleeping inside. The child was tiny and soft-looking, with pudgy cheeks tinted a light rose color, only a few months old at the most. He was wrapped in a simple brown blanket and had dark, wavy hair. His hair had the look of locks that would be quite unruly when he was older. Legolas gently lifted the boy, trying to recall anything and everything Belladonna had ever told him about young children.

_Hold him in the crook of my arm. Support his head. Make sure he cannot fall. Be careful..._

Only great physical control kept the assassin from shaking. He had never held a baby before. _Ever_. And this one was so small and fragile looking. What if he dropped him? What if he broke him? Ciaran had never prepared him for something like this! Assassins and babies did _not_ mix. And in this moment, the tiny babe was depending solely on an assassin. Hiding his panic, Legolas knelt beside the Ranger.

"I have him. He is safe."

The Ranger smiled gently, reaching up a trembling hand to brush back the baby's dark hair. "T-Take him to L-Lord Elrond." he gasped, shuddering and quickly withdrawing from touching the child. "H-He must take c-care of him."

The Ranger knew he was dying. So did Esgal, but he still said. "I can get you to him—"

"T-too late." the Ranger whispered, unknowingly echoing the trees. "Y-You must tell Lord E-Elrond. The child is A-Aragorn, Son of Arathorn. Give h-him this."

The Ranger reached into his pocket, pulling out a ring. He dropped it into Legolas's hand, and the elf's eyes widened in shock. Sitting in his palm was the Ring of Barahir, the heirloom that signified the Royal Line of Isildur. The assassin had learned all about the Rings of Power, Isildur, and the Prophecy in Dol Guldur. The child in his arms was the Heir to the throne of Gondor.

"K-Keep it secret." the Ranger mumbled, eyes already losing their sight. "Only t-tell Elrond... and the c-closest ones h-he trusts. The Shadow... c-cannot... f-find him..."

His eyes closed as his spirit fled, giving in to the pull of death. The elf beside him had to look away, whispering a a soft prayer in Sindarin. No matter how many battles Legolas fought in and how many deaths he witnessed, he could never get used to the sight of death. With Men, elves, and other Free Peoples, he could almost _sense_ the departure of their spirit, leaving the body an empty husk and the elf severely shaken. Where the person's spirit resided, the elf could see a void. Legolas cradled the slumbering child in his arms, suddenly feeling very lost and alone. He looked down at the sleeping baby, and felt great worry and protectiveness rise in his heart.

_You carry a great burden, Aragorn, Son of Arathorn. Your line is destined to take part in the destruction of Sauron, and the birth of a new age. How is it that you, a child so small, can carry such weight? Then again, for now you are ignorant. And it is more than likely that you will remain ignorant for many years to come_, the elf mused silently.

He stood carefully as to not wake the child, and turned away from the Ranger's body. He would have liked to cover him up or bury him, but would and could not with the child in his arms. He had to get Aragorn to Rivendell.

The baby slept on for the first hour of the journey before he began to stir. Legolas halted on a tree limb, staring down at the waking Aragorn with alarm. He had no idea what to do! What if the child cried? What if he was hungry? The elf _really_ hoped the baby did not need his diaper changed.

Large eyes fluttered and opened slowly, revealing silver orbs. Aragorn stared at the elf carrying him with confusion on his face before he giggled, reaching up at grabbing the assassin's hair. Legolas smiled nervously, relaxing as Aragorn remained content merely playing with and chewing on the elf's long blonde hair. It was a little disgusting but mostly cute, and the assassin could see how so many people could be drawn in by a baby's simple charms.

He continued on his way, subconsciously rocking the boy and hoping his quietness and contentment would last. Other than the occasional giggle and coo, Aragorn stayed mostly quiet. He was not hungry or wet, so there was no need to bawl. Besides, the pointy-eared long-haired man's hair was fun to pull, like Mama's.

As he ran Legolas wondered if the child was always this quiet or if he had learned to be silent after being hunted on the road. Based on the thinness and exhaustion surrounding his mother— it saddened Legolas that he did not know her or the Ranger's names—, Arathorn, and the Ranger, they had been running for a while, away from civilization.

It angered the elf that anything would make a baby's life so dangerous, and hunt the child because of who his ancestors were. He would have to be careful who he told that Aragorn was the Heir of Isildur. Then again, would he be telling many people. Legolas halted once more, Aragorn falling asleep in his arms. How could he get the baby to Lord Elrond without revealing himself? It was still not _time_. The answer was obvious the moment Legolas thought of the question.

_Glorfindel._

The elf glanced at the sun, judging the time of day. The Balrog-Slayer would be at the training grounds right now. He turned left, heading towards them instead of Rivendell's main gate. Aragorn was asleep once more, snuggling into the warmth of Legolas's chest. The elf pushed himself, not stopping until he reached the clearing of trees where the Rivendell training grounds were.

He instantly spotted Glorfindel swinging a sword at some dummies, but also saw two more shapes sparring nearby. The twin sons of Elrond were deep in a mock battle nearby, trapped in a stalemate. All of them were in lighter and less ornate versions of Rivendell warrior armor, practicing their skills like Glorfindel and Legolas had earlier that day. Laughing and joking with Glorfindel that morning suddenly seemed so far away, as if the assassin had been transferred to another dimension as peace and fun was replaced by war and death. Then again, that was the life Legolas was used to, so he took it in stride.

Shifting Aragorn to one arm, he put is hood over his head, pulling his face-cloth up. The assassin purposely stepped on a twig, and was almost amused when the three elves' heads snapped in his direction simultaneously. They moved into a triangle, Glorfindel in front, the twins behind, swords held at the ready.

"Who is there?" one twin called.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

"Who is there?" Elladan shouted, sword held defensively as he stared suspiciously at the shadows beneath the trees. "Show yourself!"

His twin was beside him, with Glorfindel slightly ahead. All three stared intently into the darkness. For a moment noting moved, and Elladan prepared to call again. He knew something was there. Then a green-cloaked shape emerged from the shadows, walking cautiously forward. One hand was offered in a peaceful gesture to show he held no weapons, while the other held something protectively to his chest. All three elves blinked as what had appeared to be a bundle of cloth moved, dark hair peeking over the edge of the blanket. A baby?

"Glorfindel." the stranger greeted simply, an accent Elladan recognized as a Man of the North's coming from his lips.

The Balrog-Slayer instantly relaxed, sheathing his sword. "Brian. Welcome to Imladris."

The twins remained wary. "You know him?" Elladan asked cautiously.

"Yes. Brian is a Ranger of the North. I met him a few years ago." Glorfindel said shortly. His blue eyes dropped to the bundle and a small smile crossed his face. "I did not know you had a child."

"He is not mine." Brian said softly, sadness in his tone. He went as if to speak but did not, glancing sidelong at the twins. "You are the twin sons of Elrond?"

"Yes." Elrohir said when his brother did not reply.

"Then you can be trusted." Brian said.

He turned the bundle, revealing a young baby with thick dark hair. The child stirred as he was moved. Silver eyes opened halfway for a moment and looked around vaguely at the elves before closing once more. Brian readjusted the baby, holding him securely with his head on his shoulder.

"This is Aragorn, Son of Arathorn, and Isildur's Heir." the Ranger revealed. "Arathorn and the boy's mother are dead."

Grief clouded Glorfindel's blue eyes but the twins looked at each other in shock. They had thought the line of Gondorian Kings had been broken long ago. History said that the last King of Gondor and his family had been murdered, leaving no one to inherit the throne in Minas Tirith and complete the prophecy detailing Sauron's doom.

"This is Isildur's Heir?" Elladan demanded. "Are you sure?"

Mutely, Brian stepped forward, dropping the Ring of Barahir into the twin's hand. Elladan turned over the ring in his hands, the emeralds glinting in the little bit of light still remaining as twilight crept up on the forest. Brian looked at Glorfindel.

"My Chieftan told me to bring the child to Rivendell, and leave him in Lord Elrond's care..."

Glorfindel nodded, stepping forward to accept the baby. Brian hesitated, looking down at the child. His muscles tensed as he stared at the child. Glorfindel's eyes saddened and he let the Ranger hold the boy just a little longer. Finally, Brian kissed Aragorn's forehead briefly before passing him to the Balrog-Slayer.

"Goodbye, little one." he murmured. His cowled head looked up, and although they were unable to see his eyes, the elves knew that the Ranger was looking at them with the intensity of an Elf Lord. They could feel the pressure of his gaze, as if the Valar themselves were staring at them. "Keep him safe."

And he vanished. He was gone without the tiniest hint of movement. Elrohir leapt back in shock and Elladan jumped. Both were stunned by the Ranger's rapid disappearance. One moment he was there, the next, he was gone. Glorfindel looked both surprised and thoughtful, along with a little sad.

"How did he just do that?" the older twin gasped, heart beating rapidly. "Not even an elf can vanish like that!"

"Perhaps he was a ghost," Glorfindel murmured, barely amused by his joke.

He knew why Esgal had left so abruptly. The elf was upset, and did not want to lengthen the goodbye he had to say to the baby he had so quickly become attached to. Also, his fast departure stopped any questions and invitations the elves may have put forward to have "Brian" come to the Last Homely House. Glorfindel looked at the sons of Elrond, who were still wide-eyed and trembling. When Esgal revealed himself and things were not so stern, the Vanyar would definitely have to employ the assassin when planning to prank the twins. But now was not the time for that.

"Lets get back to the Last Homely House." Glorfindel said.

He positioned his warrior cloak carefully so few would notice the baby he carried, and the three elves walked quickly back to Rivendell. Elrond met them outside the door, with Erestor at his side. Both were dressed in robes, with Elrond in dark blue and Erestor in a emerald shade of green. All of the elves were beginning to glow as darkness descended over Arda, their inner light illuminating their features. Elrond welcomed his sons and friend with a smile.

"You are back— What happened?" the Elf Lord's mood changed instantly as he spotted the serious expressions on his sons' and friend's faces.

Glorfindel stepped forward, letting his cloak fall back, and handed Aragorn to the stunned Elf Lord. Elladan gave his father the Ring of Barahir, which the Half-Elf studied for half a minute. No words needed to be spoken. He knew what had occurred, and what this meant. Still, he looked up at them, needing confirmation.

"Arathorn is dead?"

"Yes." Glorfindel confirmed.

"I did not see this." Elrond confessed, staring down at the babe. "Actually, I did, but the boy was at least four, not a few-month old babe! And Gilraen, she was killed as well?"

"Yes." Elrohir echoed the Vanyar.

Elrond's expression grew increasingly grave. "In my vision, she survived. I told Arathorn of my vision but I thought they would be safe for a while yet. However, we all know visions are not always right. Still, they died so young..."

"At least Aragorn is safe," Erestor said. "The line of Kings endures."

Elrond looked at him sharply, scanning the outside world with wary, suspicious eyes. "That name is not safe, even here. We should not call him that or tell him of his heritage before he is fully grown, at least twenty years old in human years."

"Will you adopt him, Adar?" Elrohir asked.

"Of course," the Elf Lord replied without hesitation. "He is my distant nephew after all. And if Amulug or his followers have any objections—"

"I can finally kick him out of Rivendell?" Glorfindel asked hopefully.

"Perhaps," Elrond said darkly. "Aragorn has a small bit of elven blood, thanks to his heritage. That is enough for him to have a right to stay here and call Rivendell home."

"What should we call him, since his birth name is not safe?" Erestor asked, getting back to the main point.

The elves all looked at the slumbering child, so innocent and peaceful despite the horror he had experienced. His future would not be easy, and he had a destiny and burden on his shoulders few would be able to comprehend. All the elves could hope for was that he would become great, and finally unite and save the world that was slowly sinking into Shadow. He was not only the Hope of Men, but the hope of all races that created the Free Peoples of Middle-earth.

Aragorn snuffled and cooed, a tiny fist reaching up to grip Elrond's dark hair. Silver eyes opened, looking at the elf, and a bubbly giggle was Aragorn's greeting to the Lord. Elrond smiled at the babe in his arms, swooping down to kiss the tiny forehead covered by thick, dark hair. The warm love of a father holding his newborn child had risen in the Elf Lord. His paternal instincts were returning, and he found himself more at ease and hopeful than he had been in a long time.

Hope...

"We shall call him Estel." Elrond decided, and all of the elves agreed with him.

**LOTRLOTRLOTR**

**Translation:**

**Estel: Hope**

**Mellon-nin: My friend**

**Adar: Father**

**A/N: Congratulations, Elrond! Its a boy! :P Sorry for updating late. Life got in the way. **

**Yeah, Legolas put on a fake "Man's" accent, which told Glorfindel he wanted to be known as "Brian the "Ranger"" not "Esgal".**

**Thanks for all of the awesome reviews! :D**

**Responses to Guest reviews:**

**To "Issy": Thanks!**

**To "lyria": Thank you!**

**To "Lys": Kid Bilbo is so cute! Its great to know I wrote Gandalf so well. Thank you!**

**To "Emilz": Oops! Thanks for telling me. I should go fix that...**

**To "Water dragon": Thank you!**

**Please review!**


	11. 10: A Very Unexpected Party

**Chapter Ten: A Very Unexpected Party**

_Third Age 2941 (70 years ago...)_

Legolas was enjoying lunch in Bag End, staying in Bilbo's home for the duration if his visit this year. The hobbit could never figure out how Esgal could get to his house in broad daylight without being seen by the many hobbits outside. Then again, a part of Bilbo did not _want_ to think about it. Sometimes the elf's ability to hide in plain sight was a little more than unnerving.

The hobbit's home was well-lit and spacious, for a hobbit that is. Bilbo's family was always a little well-off and with their desire of know things they needed a lot of room for their trinkets and books. The evidence of Bilbo's almost pack-rat habit was around the two. Books, maps, antiques, and old family heirlooms were scattered around the house, organized yet somehow a little messy at the same time.

When he came to visit, Legolas would more often than not find Bilbo poring over a map, reading about far distant lands, or smoking his pipe, deep in thought. The elf knew that the hobbit had a longing for adventure, a fire in his heart and blood that made him want to go out and explore the world. He repressed it, acting like a respectable, normal, everyday hobbit, but Legolas could still see how his eyes would stray to the maps and a forlorn look would appear on his face.

The elf had half a mind to let Bilbo to travel with him, and had even asked the hobbit a few times, but the Master of Bag End always said no. The "no"s were slower to come and less certain than they had been, but were still a "no"s. But, no matter what Bilbo liked to pretend, he always liked to hear stories of Legolas's travels and adventures. His eyes would grow as large as they had when he was a child, but they held a more serious expression than they once had.

"I've been thinking..." Bilbo said as they ate, the hobbit much more than Legolas.

"Should I be worried?" the elf asked.

Bilbo glared at him. "Your wit astounds me. Any way, I've been wondering about..." He suddenly became hesitant, looking at Legolas almost nervously. "About... your past. And you. You know a lot about my family history and my life in the Shire when I was a child, but I don't know much about your childhood..."

Legolas looked down at his plate, sighing deeply. He had not even revealed his training in Dol Guldur to Glorfindel. Ciaran's death still pained him from time to time and many things had happened in the fortress the elf would rather not speak about. Glorfindel never asked about his past, seeing it made the assassin uncomfortable, and was content with whatever information the young elf decided to tell him. Legolas was not the type to tell his life story, not even to his closest friends. After all, they did not even know his birth name was Legolas.

He barely thought of himself as Legolas at times, and was almost willing to leave that name behind him completely. Then he would remember that Legolas was the name Ciaran called him and knew him by. That one thought was enough for the assassin to remember and honor his name, but not enough for him to use it. He was Esgal, and Esgal he would remain until he found the answers he did not yet seek.

"You don't have to tell me anything." Bilbo said hurriedly when he noticed his friend's expression. "It's your choice."

The elf rose a hand to halt his awkward babbling. "I think I should talk to someone, and tell all that has happened in my past." Legolas murmured. "For your safety, I will not mention names or places, and I must warn you that my story is not a happy one."

Legolas told him everything, keeping out only names and places, and using basic, general words instead. Ciaran was "Father", The Witch-King was "Lord" or "Delorcion", Dol Guldur was "the Fortress", the orcs and evil Men were "the monsters/creatures", and so on. He told of his capture and mother's death, the events after, his training, everything up until his escape and Ciaran's death. Bilbo listened with an open ear, not gasping or "ah-ing" like one would when telling a story. This was no story. This was Esgal's past, and every terrifying, happy, or sad event he told of was personal and real.

The hobbit showed great sympathy and concern for his friend, stiffening when he told of the "Delorcion's" plan to bind him with Dark Magic and crying when Ciaran died. By the end of it, Legolas felt better, glad to have finally told someone. He noticed Bilbo's lingering silence.

"I hope I have not burdened you with this, mellon-nin."

"Of course not," Bilbo said softly. He stood up, walked over to Esgal, and gave him a hug, just like he would when the hobbit was a child. Legolas was stunned by the gesture, returning it awkwardly. "I'm glad you told me." the hobbit said. "Its just... you don't remember your past before being captured? Any of it?"

"No." Legolas said softly.

"Have you tried...?" Bilbo stopped, smacking himself on the forehead. "That's a stupid question. Of course you've tried to regain your memories."

"I've had no luck." the elf admitted. "I cannot remember faces, places, names, or even if I had a stuffed bear. There is no memory, other than the attack and my Naneth's death. I can barely remember her face anymore. Her voice, personality, and name are all gone."

Bilbo's eyes clouded before he he sat up straight. His expression cleared and he smiled at Legolas. "At least you have memories of Ciaran. And you have me, Radagast, Glorfindel, and the new memories you'll forge with us." He hesitated, his ears turning red, but pressed on, determined to make his friend smile. "Like that time Mama punished me when I was small by making me wear a dress for an entire day."

It worked, and the assassin chuckled. "I will never forget that. It was just by luck that I decided to drop in for a visit that day... Pink is definitely your color, Bilbo."

The hobbit's cheeks matched his ears. "Well, I plan on never wearing pink or a dress again, thank you very much."

They shared a smile. Bilbo poked at his food before eating it quite daintily for a hobbit. Legolas followed suit and a companionable silence came over them. A knock on the door made both pause, looking at each other.

"If its a Sackville-Baggins I swear..." Bilbo muttered, rising to his feet. "I'm coming. I'm coming!"

He walked towards the door, another set of more insistent knocks sounding. Bilbo pulled the napkin out of the front of his shirt, stuffing it into his pocket. He jabbed the tip of his forefinger into the pipe he had in the pocket and cursed softly. Annoyed, he took the object out of his pocket, holding it in his hand. Bilbo opened the circular door, and his heart skipped a beat.

Standing on his doorstep, tall and cloaked in gray with a long wooden staff in one hand, was Gandalf. The hobbit stared mutely at the Wizard for a moment, thoughts scattering in a thousand different directions. Gandalf was here, on his doorstep, for the first time in years, when _Esgal was sitting at his dining room table_. Esgal, who specifically, most certainly, absolutely did _not_ want to meet or see the elves or Wizards yet— Radagast and Glorfindel being the exceptions. The hobbit stared blankly at Gandalf for another minute before speaking.

"Can I help you?" _Well, that was a little rude_, Bilbo mentally chided himself.

"Bilbo Baggins." the Wizard said. "Don't you recognize me?"

"Uh..." Bilbo said, trying to think of a way to warn Esgal without alerting Gandalf something was up.

The Wizard took his frazzled, confused look as a "No" and spoke. "Come now, Bilbo. I'm disappointed that the son of Belladonna Took cannot take the time to remember me."

"Um." was Bilbo's intelligent response. "Er, uh, yes! Of course I remember you!" Gandalf brightened. "You're Gandalf! You make those _wonderful_ fireworks." Bilbo could swear the Wizard drooped, from exasperation or annoyance he could not tell. _I need to get him to leave,_ Bilbo thought. _Etiquette be damned. I know Gandalf is friendly but he would tell the elves— or even worse, Saruman— about Esgal. He's not ready to face his kin yet, and from what Esgal tells me Saruman cannot be trusted any more than an orc. Gandalf cannot know about Esgal_. Bilbo shifted on his feet uncomfortably as an awkward silence reigned on. "Is there something you need?"

"I'm looking for someone—" Bilbo almost had a heart attack. "—to join with me on an adventure." the Wizard said, looking at him keenly.

The hobbit chewed the end of his unlit pipe. "I'm afraid you won't find any hobbits willing to go on an adventure here. I suggest you go to Bree. Some crazy fool there will go with you... wherever it is you're going."

Gandalf pierced him with wise blue eyes, bushy eyebrows lowering down over the aged orbs. "All right then, Bilbo. I can see when I'm not wanted."

"Hm." the hobbit said vaguely. _Leave. Leave. Please just leave._

The hobbit nodded firmly and shut the door, breathing outward in a sharp gust. He paused, sure he heard something from the other side, and peered through the curtains. Gandalf's bright blue eyes stared back at him and he yelped in surprise, leaping back. When he looked again, the Wizard was walking out the gate, staff tapping against the ground. Bilbo let out another breath, relieved, and turned.

"GAH!" he half-squeaked, half-shrieked.

Esgal was standing there, staring intently at the door.

"Don't sneak up on me like that," Bilbo chided. "Can't you learn how to make some noise when you move."

The elf shrugged easily, still looking at the door. "Who was that?"

Bilbo's annoyance faded, a serious look coming over his face. "Gandalf was here. I was a little unwelcoming with him and sent him on his way, don't worry."

The worried look on Esgal's face faded and he smiled at the hobbit. "Thank you, Bilbo. I appreciate that you'd let him think you're a stiff, respectable hobbit for my sake." the teasing vanished and the light blonde-haired elf frowned. "What did Gandalf need you for?"

Bilbo snorted. "He wanted me to go on some adventure with him. No thank you, I'm happy here, at bag End. I don't want an adventure."

"Are you sure?" Esgal questioned. "There is much to see in Middle-earth. There are many beautiful places to visit."

"There are also many dangers," Bilbo pointed out. "And from the sounds of it, this "adventure" wouldn't be a tourist trip. Knowing Gandalf, I'd probably end up in a Spider's nest. I'm happy with being a respectable hobbit, thank you."

The elf looked at him with a mix of amusement and knowing. "If you say so." He glanced outside with piercing violet eyes. "While Gandalf is here I will make myself scarce. I will return tonight."

With that, the elf vanished out the door, none of the hobbits noticing him as he left Bag End.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

That night found the two at another meal, Bilbo just putting two cooked fish on two plates. Esgal had returned earlier that evening, prepared to leave the next morn. He would be heading straight back to Mirkwood, having been away from the darkening forest for over six months. He should return.

"Why did Gandalf have to come today?" Bilbo sighed.

"I could come back in less than a year," Esgal offered.

The hobbit shook his head. "No. You're needed in Mirkwood, to keep the shadowed trees calm. They're getting worse and more violent, you said, and they'll only listen to you."

"You are right," Esgal said, sounding tired and a little withdrawn.

His violet eyes were dark and far away, and his pale, perfectly carved features were tight with strain and something Bilbo could not decipher. Esgal could still hide his emotions like he had none, but Bilbo noticed as the years went by that the elf was willing to show his own worry and pain a little more each visit. Bilbo instantly felt bad about bringing up the darkness in his friend's home. At least this time Esgal had not put his "assassin face" on. That lack of expression terrified Bilbo at times, and the hobbit knew that the elf could see that. Maybe that was why Esgal let emotions show here that he would normally hide.

"Sorry." Bilbo apologized.

The pain vanished, covered up by the awkward, strained smile Esgal tried to use around Bilbo instead of his emotionless mask. "It is not your fault that the Shadow is growing steadily stronger." his friend said gently. He ran a hand through his long, pale blonde hair. "It is just... draining. To see my home spiraling down so slowly..." He shook his head and set his jaw. "No. I will not speak of my troubles here and ruin the last part of my visit. So tell me, Bilbo. Have the Sackville-Bagginses still been bothering you?"

Bilbo nodded, a scowl appearing on his face. "They're lunatics, the lot of them! They want Bag End, you know, so they can sell all of the antiques and heirlooms inside. I do not dare think about what would happen if I somehow gained a small fortune—" A knock sounded on the door. "Valar curse it! _Another_ visitor?"

Esgal looked at the door, a knowing smile on his face. "Go on and answer it."

Was Bilbo imagining things, or did the assassin sound amused?

Pushing his friend's odd mood to the back of his mind, the hobbit walked up to the door for the second time that day. He twisted the knob, opening it... and gaped. A _dwarf_ was standing on his doorstep. He had dark hair and a bushy beard, an earring in each ear. He wore his weapons openly, and had the feel of a warrior, almost like Esgal. Well, not quite like Esgal, who was mush more alert and ready to fight even when half asleep, but almost the same. Bilbo could see the dwarf's eyes roaming around as he looked for danger, one hand on his weapon.

Even though the dwarf was not much taller than Bilbo, he seemed to loom over the hobbit. He seemed like the type of person to get in a bar fight against ten others when extremely drunk... and win. The dwarf's eyes landed on the hobbit, piercing and scrutinizing him. Bilbo swallowed nervously, but was more annoyed and confused than intimidated.

"Dwalin, at your service." the dwarf said.

"Uh." Bilbo said dumbly. "Bilbo Baggins... at yours. D-Do we know each other?"

"No." the dwarf growled and pushed past the hobbit, walking into the house. He looked around the house. "Which way laddie? Is it down here?"

"Is _what_ down _where_?" Bilbo asked.

He glanced at the kitchen to see that Esgal had vanished. Before he had time to wonder where the elf had gone, Dwalin threw his cloak at the hobbit. Bilbo caught it, a befuddled expression on his face. The dwarf grinned at him, heading towards the kitchen.

"Supper. He said there'd be food. Lots of it."

"He-He said?" Bilbo spluttered. "_Who_ said?"

Dwalin did not answer, instead sitting down and eating Bilbo's fish. As a person who did not know Bilbo, he did not think that the second fish and plate was odd, eating that too. Bilbo watched with a mix of shock, disgust, and anger as the dwarf devoured his and Esgal's meal. The hobbit's eyes flicked around the room and paused on a closet that's door was the smallest bit ajar. Bilbo backed away from the dwarf, standing outside the closet. Dwalin was too busy eating to notice.

"What are you doing?" Bilbo hissed softly.

Esgal's voice drifted out from the closet, tinged with amusement. "Observing. There's another dwarf coming, plus some more on their way. They're causing quite a stir— your neighbors are noticing them. They're not exactly quiet. The next one should knock right about... now."

There was a pounding on the door. Muttering a curse, Bilbo hurried to the door, opening it to reveal a second dwarf. This one had white hair and a bushy white beard.

"Balin, at your service," the white-haired dwarf said with a bow.

"...Good evening." Bilbo said weakly.

"Yes, yes it is." Balin said with a smile. He walked into the house. Did these dwarves know the meaning of the words "_private property_" or "_home invasion_"? "Am I late?"

"For what?" Bilbo asked, dread rising within him.

Balin did not answer, catching sight of Dwalin and greeting him happily. The two smiled, grasping each other's arms... before headbutting each other. They laughed and chattered, ignoring Bilbo as he tried to get their attention.

"I'm not entirely sure you're in the right house..." the hobbit said.

There was a knock on the door. Resisting the urge to groan, Bilbo reluctantly pulled it open, revealing two more dwarves. One was blonde, the other brown-haired, and both had near-identical grins on their faces.

"Fili." the blonde one said.

"And Kili." the brown-haired one said.

"At your service." they chorused.

Bilbo greeted them wearily, thinking, _How many more __**are**__ there?_

Within a few minutes, twelve dwarves were in Bilbo's kitchen, along with Gandalf. Bilbo was rushing around the house, trying his best to keep the dwarves from ruining it. Chairs were moved, maps pushed off tables, and his pantry was raided. The hobbit could only watch, astounded, as the fat dwarf— Bombur might have been his name— wandered out of the pantry with four blocks of cheese in his arms.

"Put that back! Put that back! Don't touch that! That's an antique! That's a book not a coaster! Put that map down!" he shouted, running around and flailing like a chicken with its head cut off.

Yet while this was all going on, he carefully kept the dwarves away from the closet where Esgal was hiding. "No. Don't go in there. Off limits." he would say firmly whenever a dwarf approached the closet. It was hard to keep track of them all. _There's so many of them! And they're obviously not leaving. Why did Gandalf tell them to come here of all places?_ The hobbit silently whined. Bilbo did not need to look to know the assassin in the closet was laughing at him, watching the scene with utter amusement.

The Grey Wizard pointedly ignored Bilbo's glare, counting the dwarves around him. "Fili, Kili. Oin, Gloin. Dwalin, Balin, Bifur, Bofur, Bombur. Dori, Nori, Ori... We appear to be one dwarf short."

"He is late is all. He met with our kin to the north," Dwalin said. "He will come."

As the twelve dwarves began a food fight in the kitchen, the hobbit whose house they had invaded crept away, to a closet close to the other room. "Esgal?" he whispered. "Can you leave now?"

"One more is coming." the hidden elf replied softly. "Once he arrives, I will depart."

Bilbo scowled. He could hear the amusement in Esgal's tone. "You may find this very funny—"

There was three solid knocks on the door. The dwarves quieted, all looking out into the hall. Gandalf smoked his pipe, smiling slightly.

"He is here."

The Wizard opened the door, revealing a serious-looking, majestic dwarf standing on Bilbo's doorstep.

"Gandalf," he greeted, entering Bag End. "I thought you said this place would be easy to find. I wouldn't have found it at all if not for that mark on the door."

Bilbo's eye twitched and he glared at Gandalf fiercely. The Istar almost winced. If he did not know any better, Mithrandir would have sworn that the hobbit had been taught to glare by an elf.

"Bilbo Baggins, allow me to introduce the leader of our company. Thorin Oakenshield."

Bilbo had heard of the King Under the Mountain from Esgal. He knew what Thorin and his people had gone through, and how much the King had sacrificed and done for them. So when he spoke, he bowed low and his voice was tinged with obvious respect. "It is an honor to meet you." he said sincerely.

A couple of the dwarves exchanged confused or stunned glances. Gandalf looked slightly taken aback and Thorin's eyes brightened with surprise. Bilbo took the moment they were all musing and stunned by what he said to glance over his shoulder. The closet door was closed, a leaf stuck to the handle. Bilbo knew what that meant. Esgal was gone. The hobbit prepared himself to face this new guest, waiting with a patience taught to him by Esgal that few possessed. They would tell him why they were here. Eventually.

And, after hours of ignorance and bewilderment on Bilbo's part, they did.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

The next morning, Esgal watched the dwarves and Gandalf leave. He waited until they were down the path before entering Bag End. Bilbo was sitting at the empty table, dark shades under his eyes. In his hands was gripped a document. Esgal scanned it quickly, getting the main idea of what it was. His eyes, like Bilbo's rested on the empty space next to "Burgular".

"Well?" he said softly, ignoring Bilbo's start of surprise. "What are you going to do?"

"This is not my fight." the hobbit said softly. "I am not a warrior or soldier. I've never been out of the Shire. Why would Gandalf come to me, and ask me to join in on this mad journey?"

"The dwarves are trying to regain their home." Esgal said wisely. "Is it madness to attempt to reclaim the great city they lost?"

"No. Not madness." Bilbo admitted. "Desperation. Determination. Bravery. Foolishness. I do not know which. But why would Gandalf come to _me_?"

Esgal knelt next to his friend, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Because he saw something special in you, Bilbo Baggins. You are an extraordinary hobbit. Despite your claims, you _do_ wish to go on an adventure. You do not want to stay in Bag End for the rest of your life, or be a boring, respectable hobbit. This is your chance, if you wish to take it. The journey will not be easy, but it just might be _worth_ it."

The hobbit looked at him with wide eyes before going deep into thought. He picked up the contract, lips moving silently as he read it over again. He paused, placing his head in his hands. Legolas let him think, waiting patiently. Five minutes passed before Bilbo moved. His head rose from his hands and his eyes were bright. Legolas smiled. The hobbit had made his decision.

"Go on," the elf said, not needing his friend to speak to know what he had chosen. "And if you pass through Mirkwood, I will be there. Go reclaim a kingdom."

Bilbo grinned, an almost childish look crossing his face as his excitement shone through. He gathered up a few belongings and ran out of Bag End like a madman. The contract trailed behind him like a banner.

"I'm going on an adventure!" he shouted, and laughed as he ran.

**LOTRLOTRLOTR**

**Translations:**

**Naneth: Mother**

**Delorcion: My created version of "Bastard"**

**Mellon-nin: My friend**

**A/N: This chapter was SO much fun to write! :D There are some lines from The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey in here. I don't own them.**

**Thanks for all of the epic reviews! Have I ever mentioned how much I love you all? :D**

**Responses to Guest reviews:**

**To "DT": Thank you! Legolas will reveal himself to them in a few chapters. I won't say when. ;)**

**To "Issy": Thanks! There is a great significance that things happened differently in reality compared to Elrond's vision... You'll have to read on to see what I mean.**

**To "lyria": Thanks!**

**To "KP": Thank you! I plan on completing this story, don't worry.**

**To "Fishina": Thank you! Yes, he can glow if he wants to.**

**To "Joe": Thanks!**

**To "Fletcher": Thank you! Everyone needs friends. :)**

**IMPORTANT NOTE: It might be a few weeks before I update again. I do not know when I will next have internet access I can update from. Don't worry if I don't update for a few weeks. I will update as soon as I can.**

**Please review!**


	12. 11: The Rage of the Elvenking

**A/N: Your eyes are not deceiving you. This is an update! Go library internet! (And sister who whines about not having internet at home...)**

**LOTRLOTRLOTR**

**Chapter Eleven: The Rage of the Elvenking**

_Third Age 2941 (70 years ago...)_

A few months after Bilbo's departure on his adventure, Legolas perched at the top of a shadowed tree, listening to their angry murmurs without the worry or fear many other's would have been plagued with. Despite his best efforts, more and more trees were becoming shadowed. It happened often enough that the assassin could spot the signs when a tree was teetering on the edge of light. The first sign was easy to see, or hear, to be more accurate.

When a tree began to finally lose the light within itself, it started calling him "Daelas". Then, its Song would change, morphing into Black Speech. Not long after that, their own form of Black Speech would be the only tongue it could converse in and fully understand. Soon after, the tree would stop speaking of nature and start muttering angrily to itself, hissing if sunlight touched its blackening leaves. Finally, it would grow quiet for several days, emerging from its solitude with a fierce hatred of elves and cursing all things Light.

Watching these transformations from joyful to Dark made Legolas weep at times. Sometimes he would be so distraught by the loss of Light that he would walk away to cry in the tree above Ciaran's grave. Even though that tree had also fallen to shadow, it still kept its vow to protect Ciaran's resting place, the oath it had made so deeply ingrained within it that it would never betray Daelas's trust. Depending on how upset Legolas was feeling, he would stay at the oak tree for several hours, before returning to the new shadowed trees and reintroducing himself.

The trees' anger and wariness would last five to nine days, but after that period of relentless rage it would welcome him, recognizing Daelas. A hint of its old self would shine through. The trees would rarely remember Esgal, the elf they Sang to when they were still Light. They would only know Daelas, the strange elf that was not too bright, and made them a little calmer and less angry at the world.

The shadowed trees did not understand why Daelas wept sometimes when he stroked their dark bark.

The forest had been doing so well. Orc and Spider attacks were still down, but the Shadow itself was reaching deeper into the forest. A new presence had revealed itself in Dol Guldur recently, a Dark human calling himself the Necromancer. Though Legolas was not convinced the creature was human. No human would be allowed to run the Hill of Sorcery, not with the Witch-King's lieutenant there. The elf had a feeling the Necromancer was much more than human. He just hoped that the White Council would take Radagast seriously when the Brown Wizard told them of the threat.

The trees around Legolas continued to mutter, annoyance and anger focusing on something below. Legolas looked down absently and spoke a soft curse. Below him, tired and hungry-looking were thirteen dwarves and Bilbo Baggins. What were they doing _here_?

_Of course, _Legolas thought._ They must travel through Mirkwood to reach Erebor. It took them longer than necessary to reach here though. I left at the same time but have been here for almost a month. I wonder what delayed them?_ He watched two dwarves argue, another wander around with a dazed look on his face, and a fourth who looked ready to fall asleep. _Why do I have the feeling that they have run into every pack of orcs, wargs, and goblins between here and Bree?_

Not knowing how close to being right he was, the elf considered revealing himself and offering to be their guide through the dark forest. The group was obviously lost and hungry. Also, they were looking at the surrounding trees with expressions ranging from unease to outright fear. It was obvious that even the dwarves could sense the forest's anger. The only one who did not look unsettled by the woods was Thorin. Legolas scrutinized the King Under the Mountain, taking in his hard look and the set of his jaw. He knew the proud dwarf would accept no help from an elf, even from him.

_They're going to wander into a Spider's nest at this rate. Or run into a patrol of testy Mirkwood warriors,_ Legolas predicted with a silent groan. _I'm sure that a fish in the river can hear them stomping through the woods— Oh, orc spawn!_

The elf saw the beginnings of Spider webs in the trees around him. Sure enough, the dwarves were heading towards a Spiders' nest. As in Spiders, _plural_. Of _course_ they had to stumble upon the biggest Spider colony in Mirkwood! Legolas cursed mentally, already spotting Spiders creeping towards the dwarves and Bilbo in the treetops. It was too late to warn them to turn back.

The Spiders in Mirkwood were like any spider one could find in their home... except they were bigger than horses, and a whole lot meaner and smarter. These Spiders were large and furry, either brown or black in color, with sharp pincers and legs longer than a tall Man's. Their bulbous bodies were fat, with a slight point at the end like a stinger. Their eyes were large and black, reflecting what they saw and glittering with both intelligence and malice.

A screech ripped through the air and the dwarves and Bilbo flinched, one of the dwarves screaming in terror as the Spiders revealed themselves. Weapons were drawn and the travelers stood in a defensive circle, shuffling bodies skittering around them. Bilbo's sword trembled as he held it, and Esgal could see the whites of his eyes they were so wide.

One of the Spiders dropped to the ground, giant pincers snapping as it approached.

"Hold your ground." Thorin said calmly, not revealing any fear he may have been feeling.

The Spider paused, lifting one foreleg and clacking its pincers. Its eight eyes were focused on the travelers, their scared faces reflecting in the black orbs. The other Spiders crept forward, all snapping and clacking while their feet made no noise on the forest floor. One of the dwarves whimpered.

_They don't stand a chance. There are too many. They're going to be killed_, the hidden spectator thought grimly._ I cannot let that happen._

Up in the trees, Legolas shifted, letting a small bit of shadow move over his frame. A Spider spotted the movement and looked up, as he intended it to. It spotted the glowing violet eyes that watched them from the trees, and recognized them instinctively. Hoshvuras! The Spider gave a warning shriek and the other Spiders froze. As one they bolted, fleeing the area and abandoning their prospective prey. The dwarves watched them go with bewildered expressions on their faces. For a moment, none of them moved, so shocked were they.

"Let's get out of here before they come back!" the white-haired dwarf— Balin— urged suddenly.

Thorin's stunned inaction ended. "Move!"

The group ran, Legolas following them in the treetops. He would return and take care of a few of the Spiders after he knew the dwarves and Bilbo were safe. The webs quickly disappeared, the forest brightening slightly, and the assassin recognized where the travelers had fled. More specifically, where they had fled _into_.

_You have got to be joking._

No sooner had the dwarves stopped to rest did twenty Mirkwood warriors appear out of the foliage, surrounding the dwarves with arrows on all sides. Wait. Only the dwarves were there. Where had Bilbo gone? The assassin looked around for the hobbit, worried he had been left behind. He spotted his friend crouching in the shadows behind a tree, watching the elves with nervous eyes. One elf— the Crown Prince, Aglar, if Legolas was not mistaken— approached Thorin.

"Thorin Oakenshield. Why have you come to Mirkwood?" the elf said in his smooth voice. His tone was disinterested but diplomatically polite, not quite demanding but not the friendliest either.

"We are just passing through," Thorin growled defensively, voice taught with rage.

Legolas winced. If the Dwarf King had used a calmer, more respectful or diplomatic voice, Aglar would have let him go, or guided him through the forest. But the dwarf's voice had held nothing but scorn, stiffness, and loathing. In other words, he had just insulted and disrespected the elf.

The Crown Prince's lip curled. "It is impolite to pass through this realm without informing the Elvenking. Especially for royalty such as yourself." There was no mocking in Aglar's tone, only politeness, but his voice cracked like a whip.

_You have your father's temper and icy wit_, Legolas thought half-sadly, half in exasperation. _You can speak as sweetly as as a bird sings yet still carry insults in your tone. Why can't elves and dwarves get __**along**__ for once?_

It was obvious neither party liked or trusted the other, even with the elves wearing emotionless masks. Legolas could spot the open mistrust and anger on the dwarves faces, the aloofness and fury in the postures of the elves only a little harder to spot. The ancient feud between elves and dwarves was not one the assassin understood. He knew people could hold grudges, but the ever-growing list of injustices between the two races was becoming ridiculous in his opinion. Had they never heard of the phrases "Let it go" or "The past is the past"? Legolas briefly thought about leaping down and smacking both royals on the backs of their heads to try to knock some sense into them before dismissing the idea and refocusing on the confrontation below.

"You will come with us to meet the King," Aglar said.

It was not a request. Thorin glanced at the pointy arrows aimed at his kin and nodded in angry consent. The elves relieved their prisoners of their weapons and marched them away, arrows pointing at the ground but still strung to their bows. Legolas moved to the tree above Bilbo, looking down at the hobbit and softly calling his name. Predictably, Bilbo jumped a foot in the air, letting loose a startled squeak. He looked up, terror fading, and smiled.

"Esgal. You're here."

The elf offered his hand and the hobbit took it. Legolas pulled him easily up into the tree, setting him on a branch. Bilbo looked slightly nervous but was not afraid like many hobbits would have been. He always liked to climb trees as a child and his friendship with Esgal only made the habit more permanent. He was nowhere near as comfortable on a branch as the elf, but he was not afraid of heights or falling. Bilbo knew the assassin would catch him if he did.

"How are you Bilbo?" Legolas greeted the hobbit.

"I'm alright." Bilbo replied. "I've had quite the adventure."

"I can tell." the elf said, a little grave. "How is it that your group managed to not only run into a Spiders' nest, but also a patrol of warriors while fleeing said Spiders?"

Bilbo winced. "Its this forest. Its so... heavy. Everything is dark and shadowed and it seems like even the trees want to _kill_ us." He shivered.

_Some of them do_, Legolas thought but did not say. "I know. You should not have come here without a guide who knows these woods. Where is Gandalf?"

"He's off doing something for the White Council," the hobbit said, sounding both worried and miffed.

The assassin frowned. "He shouldn't have let you travel through here alone." he said adamantly. "Though we both know Thorin would not accept an elf as a guide."

Bilbo sighed. "That is true." He looked in the direction that the elves and their dwarf captives had gone. "I need to rescue them."

"It will not be easy," Legolas warned. "The elves of Mirkwood have become more vigilant as the Shadow grows. Would you like my help?"

Bilbo studied his friend for a moment, considering. He knew Esgal could get into Mordor and not be seen, which meant he definitely could sneak past a few elves. However, the hobbit had a new trick up his sleeve— or more specifically, in his pocket— that could get him into the palace easily enough on his own. There was no need to let Esgal know about his magic ring.

"No Esgal," Bilbo said. "I need to free them on my own."

Legolas could see the hobbit's determination. He was still seen as useless by the dwarves sometimes, and needed to show he could assist them and was an asset to the group. They needed to see that Bilbo Baggins was not a fidgety, nervous hobbit who had no place on this mission. The dwarves had seen a bit of his bravery and valor when Bilbo faced down Azog to protect Thorin, but the feeling had faded slightly. Bilbo needed to do this himself.

"Very well." Legolas said. "Good luck, Bilbo." With that, he vanished.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

Thorin Oakenshield stood stiff and proud before the Elvenking. The elf sat in his high-backed wooden throne, a crown of leaves and weaved wood upon his head. His posture showed dignity, power, and grace and his face was an expressionless mask as he looked down at the dwarves.

A few of the travelers— like Nori— shifted nervously under his sharp gaze while others— Fili and Kili included— stood with impassive, neutral expressions. Thorin was relieved his rambunctious nephews were keeping their silence. It would not bode well if one of the dwarves accidentally let slip details of their quest to reclaim Erebor.

Bilbo was not among the group that had been captured, the Dwaf King noted. He was not sure whether he should be annoyed, hopeful, or irritated by the hobbit's absence. Where had he run off to this time? Could he help them escape? Probably not. While resourceful, Bilbo had no chance of sneaking past these wary elves.

The Elvenking spoke, voice musical and holding neither welcome nor condemnation. "Thorin Oakenshield. What business do you have in Mirkwood?"

"As I told your warrior," the Dwarf King said, nodding to the silver-haired elf that had apprehended his group. "We are merely passing through."

"You head to the east." Thranduil stated. "You seek to reclaim Erebor."

A few of the dwarves behind Thorin shifted, betraying their unease and shock at the Elvenking's knowing statement. The Dwarf King kept his silence, hiding his own feelings of bewilderment and anger behind a blank face. How had the elf known?

"How do you expect to reclaim your kingdom with _thirteen_ dwarves?" Thranduil asked, cool disdain in his voice.

Thorin bristled and glared at the elf. "I would not have to reclaim it if you had assisted my people, instead of standing by like a coward!" The dwarf's eyes narrowed as he studied the golden-haired elf standing beside Thranduil. He looked remarkably like his King. "...Or were you too afraid of losing one of your precious sons to help us?"

Thorin did not notice the flash of grief that passed through the Elvenking's blue eyes, or how the other elves in the room froze, faces tightening with pain. Thranduil's expression did not change, but his eyes burned like blue fire, all of his anger showing through his eyes. A few of Thorin's kin flinched and wilted under the fury in that gaze. Thranduil rose and Thorin swore the pressure in the air changed, a feeling of weight and power settling over them. The Elvenking spoke in a voice that was harsh and dark, and if his tone alone could kill, Thorin would be dead ten times over.

"I was willing to let you continue with your suicidal quest, Oakenshield." He was not shouting, but a part of Thorin wished he were. The soft, seething tone in which he spoke sent shivers up the dwarf's spine, and he felt as if the Valar themselves were going to strike him down. "But you have just insulted me in the worst way possible." Thranduil looked to the silver-haired warrior. "Take them to the prison cells."

The elves— faces colder than ice— did as their King commanded, escorting the dwarves down into the caverns that held their dungeons. They walked quickly, making the dwarves almost have to run, and did not look at them the entire way to the cells. Each cell was a fifteen by fifteen foot room made of stone with a metal bar door. There were three cots inside stacked along the walls but that was it. Seeing as they were deep underground in the dungeons of the palace, there were no windows. The only light came from the torches in the hall. All in all, the dwarves had seen better and worse prison cells. Thorin's only thought was that it was ironic that the elves would imprison people in stone and away from the sky they so loved.

_Do they keep their own kind imprisoned down here, or only outsiders?_ He wondered.

The silver-haired elf stopped in front of the cells, opening three bar doors. He stepped back and glared at the dwarves. "Get in." When the dwarves did not move, he laid a hand on his sword-hilt. "_Now_."

Without protest, the dwarves quickly filed into the cells. The elf slammed the doors shut behind them, locking them before handing the keys to another elf. Before he could leave, Thorin spoke.

"So this is the hospitality of the elves." the Dwarf King said scathingly. "They imprison travelers for calling their King a coward."

The silver-haired elf's expression betrayed none of his feelings. "If you had taken the time to learn the history of your neighbors, you would never have dared to speak of the King losing his sons. His youngest was killed by orcs. You _hinted_ that he could do to lose a few more."

Thorin's glare did not cease. "So we are being imprisoned because and Elf Prince warrior died in battle." he said flatly and with a hint of contempt.

Quick as a blink the Dwarf King was off the ground, lifted by his shirtfront. The elf was almost nose-to-nose with him, eyes alight with the same rage as the Elvenking. "My brother was _five years old_ when he was taken by orcs and tortured to death to spite my father!" the Prince spat. "He was no warrior. He was a young _child_. An _innocent_, joyful elfling..." Abruptly, the angry older brother dropped the stunned dwarf and turned away, speaking thickly. "Guard them."

He strode away without looking back, posture stiff and strong, but Thorin had a feeling the Prince was sobbing. Guilt and anger warred within the dwarf as he sat on the simple cot that served as a bed in the cell. His cellmates— Fili and Kili— looked at him with a mixture of horror and sadness.

"Uncle Thorin?" Kili whispered. "Is it true?"

Thorin closed his eyes, distantly remembering lessons in a stuffy little room filled with books. He recalled the smell of parchment, dust and paper, and how his father solemnly told him a basic history of the elves of Mirkwood. He remembered one tale now. The story of the Lost Prince, the son of Thranduil that had been tortured and killed by orcs at the young age of five.

A part of Thorin's accusation had been true. Thranduil had been afraid to risk the lives of his sons. They must have been with the army that marched to Erebor after Thrór slighted the elves. The realization that callousness may not have been the reason for Thranduil's unwillingness to help hit Thorin hard. If he had not let his anger and age-old prejudices take control of his words, he and his kin would be on their way to Erebor. Instead, they were in a cell after Thorin had practically told the Elvenking he did not care if the elf lost a few more sons.

There was so much hatred and blame between elves and dwarves, and the Dwarf King suddenly found himself reeling from the intensity of it. Repetitive insults, mistrust, and hatred, passed down through the generations, kept the blood feud going. Dwarves and elves were both so stubborn, both so unwilling to reach out and ask for friendship with the other race. There was too much influence from the older members of both races for anything more than a stiff alliance to work.

Thorin leaned back, staring at the rock ceiling and feeling further from home than he ever had. Here he was, in an elven prison, trying to understand those who had captured him and his kin. He should be absolutely angry and indignant, claiming he and his kin were blameless... but he could not. After hearing the Prince's words and remembering lessons from so long ago, he just could _not_. After all, no matter what race you came from, the death of a child could not be scoffed at and scorned, and neither could the grief of a parent.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

Fighting Spiders was both exhilarating and unnerving to Legolas. Unlike other "animal" servants of the Shadow, Spiders were both intelligent and beastly. Their intelligence proved to be their downfall, however, because intelligent creatures could recognize who and what they were fighting. He was Hoshvuras, the Silent Slayer, and many Spiders would meet their deaths by his hand this night. The Spiders knew that, and were afraid.

In the Spiders' nest, beneath the dark trees of Mirkwood, the assassin dodged a spray of sticky web and the gnashing pincers of one of the giant Spiders, slashing sideways with his knives to cut one in half. The sharp blades cut through the tough Spider's exoskeleton like a knife through hot butter. Legolas leapt upward, letting the Spider charging at him go under him, landing on its back and jabbing downward. He rolled off that enemy, blades flicking up to plunge into the head of Shelob's kin. The assassin's eyes raked the mass of moving shadows, calm despite the number of Spiders around him. If Legolas were alone, even he would not have dared to attack such a large colony of Spiders. But he was not alone. The shadowed trees fought with him.

The trees shook their limbs and stabbed at the Spiders in and beneath their boughs, letting out all of their anger at the giant arachnids. They fought even more savagely than the descendants of Shelob, literally ripping their enemies apart if they could. Their reason for fighting was simple. Spiders were the enemies of Daelas. No one would hurt their Daelas! Besides, the shadowed trees were tired of having the sticky-uncomfortable webs wrapped through them, making it hard for them to move their limbs.

Knees bent, one leg out, Legoals twisted in a circle, knocking a Spider's legs out from under it and slicing off its head with his knives once it was down. He spun, arms straight, knives out, and slashed through the Spiders that tried to surround him. Still turning, he twisted out of the way of a dropping Spider, his blades stabbing into it as it hit the ground. He leapt, jumping from Spider to Spider as easily as he jumped through trees, blades hitting their target whenever he landed.

The assassin's piercing violet eyes finally spotted what he had been searching for. A particularly large Spider with green dots around her eyes and on her back was standing back from the battle, hissing and clicking loudly. That would be the Queen, the leader of this colony. She was the one that kept the Spiders united, and prevented them from killing each other. Once she was dead, however...

Legolas leapt backwards and up, landing in the tree above him. He stabbed the Spider trying to sneak up behind him, letting its corpse fall to the ground. Then he drew his bow, fitting two arrows into the string. Sighting, he released. The arrows whipped through the air, straight for the Queen. She shrieked and dodged the first arrow, and ran into the path of the second. The arrow plunged through one of her bulbous eyes, straight into her brain. The Queen collapsed and the Spiders froze, uncertain. Their leader was dead and there were no more orders. They did not know what to do.

The assassin bared his teeth in a smile. _Now, my friends._

The trees lashed out, swaying as they slashed, stabbed, and crushed the Spiders beneath them. The Spiders shrieked and tried to flee but there was nowhere to go and not find angry, vengeful trees. The elf shot a few that were slipping between the trees' attack. A couple Spiders escaped the massacre, but only a small part of the large colony. They would remain on their own or be killed by their kin. Spiders did not tolerate Spiders from different colonies. That made the remainder of the colony a lot less dangerous than they had been.

Legolas leapt down from his perch, wrinkling his nose in disgust as he surveyed the remains of his enemies. "Thank you." he told the trees.

The trees were gleeful. _Nasty Spiders are gone. They won't make icky-stuck webs in our limbs anymore._

The elf nodded silently in response, deep in thought. He knew that the shadowed trees could have evicted the Spiders years ago, without his help. The only problem was, they did not acknowledge their need to until he brought it up. That was the way of the trees. They would wait patiently, not acting until asked. But once Daelas did ask them for help, they would attack with all the loathing they felt towards the Shadow, not truly knowing about their anger until then. This ignorance of their own feelings worried Legolas at times, and he knew the Shadow was what was keeping the shadowed trees from attacking the servants of Sauron on their own.

Legolas sensed the presence coming and smiled, turning to the left and waving cheerfully. "Radagast!"

The Brown Wizard crept into the clearing, watching the now-still trees with wary eyes. "Hello, Esgal. I see that you've been busy." He nudged a dead Spider with his staff, scowling. "This colony kept taking elves and my animal friends. I'm glad you were able to take care of it."

"It is much easier to kill Spiders when angry trees are one's allies," the elf responded cheerfully.

The trees rustled in response. Radagast had a feeling they were watching him. It felt like a thousand eyes were boring into his back. He glanced around, grimacing at the dark, shadowy woods. His staff was gripped in both hands. The Wizard tried to touch one of the trees, only to have it brandish its branches threateningly. He backed off, standing beside Legolas.

"I'm glad you told the shadowed trees not to attack me," the Istar said grimly. "Although they do not seem to like me."

"It didn't try to stab or cut you," the elf said seriously. "That means it is fine with your presence. If you don't antagonize them, the trees won't attack you."

Radagast sighed. "If it weren't for you, I would not dare to come into this part of the forest. The elves can't even come close. You may have taught the trees restraint but their hostility is enough to make the hardiest warrior flinch. How can you handle it so well?"

The assassin shrugged. "I'm used to it. The darkness of the trees is nothing compared to the darkness where I grew up. It's helpful." He grinned, eyes glinting. "Enemies like the Spiders never expect an elf to come over here."

Radagast looked around at the carnage around him and glanced at his friend. "You scare me at times," he admitted. "Just a little."

"Sorry." Legolas said.

The Wizard smiled easily. "Its perfectly all right. You're a Wood Elf. You're one of the wild ones."

Legolas knew that was the truth. No matter what happened, or what the Shadow did, the elf would always be a free, wild spirit. Society would not bind him, and walls would never hold him. He was unique in ways only he could be, and in ways that had nothing to do with his eyes or suppressed glow. He did not have a set home and traveled often. He preferred to stay outside and leapt through trees instead of riding horses. He hunted to feed himself rather than go to shops.

He spent hours looking at the stars, but was quick to switch his attention and hunt orcs or Spiders. He attacked with the deadly grace of a predator, without mercy for his enemies. He could go from laughing to emotionless in a second, letting certain words wound him while completely ignoring others. He was not content in cities like the Noldor, or prone to sing like the Silvan. He could not stay in one place for long, and loved the thought of the new adventures tomorrow would bring. That was just how, and who, he was. And he had accepted that long ago.

And so, in response to Radagast's words, the elf's lips twitched. "That I am." he agreed. "That I am."

**LOTRLOTRLOTR **

**A/N: I tried to show the elves' and the dwarves' reasons for their actions in this chapter. I hope I did a good job. If you want to see how the dwarves escape the elves, read The Hobbit or wait for the next movie. :)**

**Thanks for all of the awesome reviews! :D Sorry if I didn't respond. The site wouldn't let me respond to some of the reviews for some reason. I pretty much had the choice of fighting with the PM messenger or updating the chapter since I'm short on time. So, a sincere thank you to everyone who reviewed last chapter!  
**

**Responses to Guest reviews:**

**To "lyria": Thank you! I hope you keep loving it. :)**

**To "FalenoftheForest": Thanks for reviewing!**

**To "Fishina": Thanks for reviewing! You saw this chapter. :D**

**Please review!**

**Again, I don't know when I'll be able to update next. Hopefully it will be sooner than I think.  
**


	13. 12: The Battle of the Five Armies

**A/N: Again, go library internet! **

**I just realized I did not put "AU" in the summary. But I did mention it in the summary in the prologue. I also realized I miswrote the "Time-Line" part in the Prologue. It should have said "leading up to an AU LOTR," not "a canon LOTR". I changed it. Sorry for the mistake.**

**Just so you know, this story will eventually become severely AU. Like, _severely_ AU. All That Remains is split into two "parts" which will both be in one story on this site. "Part One: The Hidden Guardian" is what you're reading right now. Part Two (which I will not yet reveal the name of) will be the severely Alternate Universe part. Anyway, this is where the AU starts showing a little. **

**Enjoy the chapter.**

**LOTRLOTRLOTR**

**Chapter Twelve: The Battle of the Five Armies**

_Third Age 2941 (70 years ago...)_

Legolas could not believe it. Out of all things, elves, men, and dwarves were going to war over gems, gold, and precious stones. When he had heard of the dragon Smaug's death, the assassin had been happy for the dwarves that had succeeded in reclaiming their home. He had thought their troubles were over, and that their quest had been completed without any more misadventures and problems. Then he had heard that the Men of Laketown and the Elves of Mirkwood wanted a piece of Erebor's great treasure, and Thorin was unwilling to part with any of it. So now the elves and men were laying siege on Erebor, where the dwarves' army had massed to defend their hoard.

The assassin really wanted to knock more than a few heads together. Stupid stubborn idiotic people! He found that he could not side with anyone or leave anyone blameless. Thorin was being stubborn, greedy, and pigheaded, refusing to even consider giving gold to anyone. Yes, he had just reclaimed it but much of it belonged to others, having been hoarded by his grandfather and Smaug.

The men of Laketown deserved credit and compensation for killing the dragon after it destroyed most of their town— Legolas had a feeling Bilbo antagonized it. He should have a talk with the hobbit later about not mocking dragons.— but they should be relying on diplomacy to get what they want. And that was coming from an assassin whose gentlest and most tactful diplomatic techniques consisted of knocking people unconscious. Finally, Thranduil sought compensation for Thrór's slights to him and his people.

Still, to go to war for _gold_... the elf found he just could not understand it. Did gold matter so much that people were willing to die for it? Was there not enough bloodshed and deaths from Smaug's attacks? Apparently not, because these people were willing to kill and die for metals and jewels. At these thoughts, Legolas, who grew up surrounded by battles and bitter strife, found himself angry at all parties in the siege that would soon become war. How could they fight and bicker over something so stupid? But he could do nothing.

The assassin was currently hiding near the elf and men encampment. The two races had joined to make their war against the dwarves. Legolas shook his head, scowling darkly with his eyes glittering. He did not like the situation. Not at all. A presence caught his attention and he smiled. He spotted Bilbo near the edge of the encampment, sneaking towards it with a nervous look on his face. His hands were clasped to his coat, as if he were holding something there.

Legolas crept up behind him, whispering in his ear. "Bilbo."

The hobbit jumped a foot in the air but did not shriek. He spun, wide-eyed. "Esgal." he hissed. "_Please_, stop doing that!"

"Sorry." the assassin said. "Why are you sneaking about?"

The hobbit reached in his coat, revealing a large shimmering gem. The Arkenstone. "I'm taking it to the Elvenking. Maybe it will be enough to stop the elves and men from fighting the dwarves, or he can use it to make Thorin give some of the gold up."

"Why aren't you siding with Thorin?" Legolas asked curiously.

"Thorin's almost mad with greed," Bilbo said miserably. "He wants to keep all the gold and jewels. But Esgal, there's so much of it. Much more than he needs. I tried to explain that to him but he cast me out and declared me a traitor. It is almost like he is a different person."

"I will never understand how jewels and gold can be so valuable," the assassin said slowly. "But wealth like that can change people, and rarely for the better. Hopefully Thorin realizes that all of the gold in Middle-earth is not worth the lives of him and his kin."

"Hopefully." Bilbo echoed him, voice lacking the hope he had just spoken of.

Seeing his friend's discomfort, Legolas changed the subject. "How did you find the Arkenstone?"

"I stumbled upon it when I snuck into Smaug's lair," Bilbo said, glancing down at the glowing Heart of the Mountain.

The assassin raised his eyebrows. "You wouldn't have happened to insult or mock Smaug while you were there?"

The hobbit winced, looking guilty. "I... may have claimed we had a way to destroy him. Which we did."

"After Laketown was burned to the ground," Legolas's voice was not accusing, only gently scolding the hobbit. "While things turned out right in the end and Smaug was killed, your words caused great damage, Bilbo."

"I know." the hobbit said heavily. "That's why I'm going to give part of my share of the gold to Laketown. If I ever get my payment, that is."

"Hmm." the elf hummed vaguely. His violet eyes narrowed. "How did you get into Smaug's lair without alerting Smaug to your presence?" _Or getting burned to a crisp_, he thought but did not say.

Bilbo tensed, laughing nervously. "I've become quite the burglar. Sneaking around without being seen has become a special gift of mine." His hand dipped into his pocket subconsciously.

Legolas could tell his friend was hiding something but did not push him. It would be unfair if he demanded to know all of the hobbit's secrets when he kept so many of his own. "I'll leave you to your mission." he said. "Good luck, Bilbo. I'm going to be around the camp, so if you need help, just call. I'm curious to meet the man who slayed Smaug."

Bilbo smiled, earlier unease forgotten. "Thank you, Esgal. I will."

The elf vanished into the night, and the hobbit continued on his way. He no longer trekked nervously towards the encampment. He was no longer afraid of attack. His assassin friend had his back now, and Bilbo knew he would not come to harm when Esgal was watching.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

Bard the Bowman was sure he was dying. His throat was drier than the desert and his head pounded as if a blacksmith were hammering it. His skin felt hot and sticky and his vision blurred, nausea overcoming him every few steps. He ached from the center of his bones, and if he did not know better he would say that he was ill. This was more terrible and draining than any illness he had ever experienced or heard of.

Ever since he had slain Smaug, Bard had been feeling steadily worse. At first, small tremors and sudden chills had been all he had experienced. Then, suddenly, he was blacking out and his body hurt more than an old man's. At first the healers had thought it was shock. Then, they began murmuring about a dark curse cast by the dragon. But Bard knew better.

He had been warned not to use the Black Arrow. The nervous, jumpy merchant that had given it to him— he had been almost desperate to be rid of it— had told him to not use it unless he needed to kill something that could not be killed. His statement had made no sense until Smaug had attacked Laketown. Then, the Arrow's use had been obvious.

Bard had shot the dragon— a thing that could not be killed by normal weapons— with the Black Arrow. Now he knew why he the merchant had been so adamant. The curse upon him was not from Smaug. It was from the Arrow. Bard had _felt_ it. As he had drawn back and released the Black Arrow, he had felt Its anger, as clear as a sentence in his mind.

_You are not meant to wield me_, it had hissed.

But he had anyway. He had released the Arrow, and it snarled in rage even as it struck Smaug's heart. And instead of feeling proud and joyful as his people cheered around him, Bard felt hollow and afraid. He became slowly, terribly ill soon after. It was not an illness of coughing and the rejection of sustenance, but a slow weakening and deterioration of his very soul. The closest thing he could compare it to was an elf fading from grief.

Yet here he was, participating in a bloodless siege on Erebor, waiting until war over gold began. Normally, he would be quite adamant about receiving his share of the gold as a reward for killing Smaug, but his illness was a more pressing burden on his mind. It did not stop him from demanding a twelfth of Erebor's treasure, but the need to receive said treasure was steadily decreasing.

Bard walked slowly through the encampment of elves and men, eyes closing every few seconds as if he were about to fall asleep on his feet. Most likely, if the Bowman did give in to the tempting darkness of unconsciousness he would collapse in the street. And that would not do well for the men's morale or his own personal image. So Bard struggled on, trying to think of a reason why the Master of Laketown wanted him to come to his tent. Something must have come up, but he could not think of what.

"Are you all right?" a musical voice asked him.

Bard blinked slowly and suddenly a cloaked figure was in front of him. The Bowman was too tired to flinch. He stared at the figure dazedly for a moment, taking him in. He was dressed like a Ranger, with a brownish-green cloak, and carried his weapons openly. Bard took in the bow and knives, and even in his almost-delusional state the man knew they were elvish. The figure was most likely an elf, then, because few men would be able to get their hands on Elvish weapons. Either that or the Bowman was hallucinating and no one was standing in front of him, because not a single passerby was giving them a second glance.

"Are you all right?" the elf repeated worriedly, and Bard realized he had been quiet for too long.

The man forced his dry lips to move, and hated how his voice rasped. "I'm fine."

"You do not sound or look fine." the elf said flatly. "What ails you? Perhaps I can help."

Bard slowly processed this. He had not thought to ask the elves for help with the curse. Then again, had they ever encountered a weapon like the Black Arrow before? Would they even be able to help him? It was worth a try, he supposed. He could not feel much worse off. Then again... a feeling of utter hopelessness took him, and a terrible despair rose in his heart, so great he almost choked. The image of the Black Arrow burned in his mind, and he swore that it was still hissing at him.

"I don't think I can be helped, Master Elf." he said softly.

The elf was silent for a moment before he spoke. "That depends, Master Human. My name is Esgal, by the way."

"I am Bard... the Bowman." the man introduced slowly. His vision swam and he closed his eyes, nausea and chills washing over him.

The elf's eyes— what odd violet eyes— brightened with recognition. "You are the Man that slayed Smaug?" he asked.

Bard nodded wearily. "Yes. I..."

He swayed and Esgal caught him, gripping his shoulder.

"I'm taking you to the healers," the elf said quickly, guiding him through the crowd.

"They can't help me," Bard rasped, black spots dancing in front of his eyes. "No one can."

He could barely keep his own feet, chills and flashes of heat rushing through his body. His head felt like it was being split open. A shudder shook Bard's frame and he squeezed his eyes shut, an anguished tear made its way down his cheek. Without fully comprehending that he was speaking, the Bowman began to mumble to himself, ignoring Esgal as the other took him towards the healing tent.

"I should not have used it... He warned me not to unless the situation was dire... The dragon's attack _was_ dire... but this is not worth it... I _shouldn't_ have used it..."

"Used what?" Esgal asked softly.

He glanced around, as if trying to find something. Unknown to the Bowman the elf was trying to figure out where the healer's tent was. It did not help that the people around them assumed Bard was drunk and as such were only walking by without the intention of helping the man.

The man blinked rapidly at Esgal, face covered in a sheen of sweat. "The Black Arrow. I shouldn't have used it. It told me I wasn't meant to wield it. And now it is punishing me..."

Esgal only stared at him in concern, watching with horror as shadows seemed to cover the man, as if they were suffocating him. His skin gained an even unhealthier tinge, and his hands trembled. Bard continued to mumble to himself, seeming to not notice the elf.

"But I had to use it...We had nothing else that could kill a dragon... I just used it to protect the town..."

The elf did not know what to do. He could literally see the man in front of him fading, his light extinguishing against the darkness that crept into his soul. How could none of the other elves notice? Why were they not helping him? The hidden assassin bit his lip, struggling to think of some way to help the man in front of him. He noticed that Bard was looking directly at him, eyes both glazed and lucid, and realized the man wanted him to respond.

"I am glad that you were able to save your people." Esgal said at last, in a soft voice. "The Black Arrow served you well. Smaug is dead and many of your people survived. Despite the consequences, it is good that you used the Black Arrow."

And suddenly, shockingly, Bard felt _better_. The nausea vanished, as did the aching and exhaustion. The chills and fever disappeared and a lightness seemed to wash over him. The labored pounding of the man's heart became a calm, healthy beat, and the pressure crushing his skull ceased. The Bowman could feel his strength returning, and the aching in his joints was gone like it had never existed. The man shrugged out of the elf's supportive hold, standing on his own two feet without feeling like the earth was buckling beneath him. A mildly confused light appeared in Esgal's eyes as the color rapidly returned to the man's cheeks. Bard smiled, and his face was bright, as if a great burden had been lifted from his shoulders.

"Thank you." the Bowman said reverently, not fully understanding what had happened but instinctively realizing the elf had _something_ to do with it.

Esgal blinked. "For what?"

"I—" Before Bard could respond a sprinting messenger ran into him, making the man stagger. When the Bowman looked up Esgal had vanished. "Where did he...?"

"Sorry, sir." the human messenger apologized, eyes wild. "I was not watching where I was going."

"It is all right," Bard said calmly. "I'm fine. What news do you bring that is so urgent that you race through camp like a horde of orcs is on your tail?"

The messenger winced. "I have an important message to give to the Master of Laketown and the Elvenking. An army of orcs and wargs are headed this way. I have already informed the dwarves and they are willing to ally with us to help defeat our common enemy, and keep them from gaining the gold inside Erebor."

Bard stared at the man mutely before grimacing. "So that is how it is going to play out. It looks like we're going to have to fight after all."

LOTRLOTRLOTR

Legolas had been in many battles, but he had never participated in one of such size. The five armies— three of Good, two of Evil— clashed near the Lonely Mountain. Battle cries in Khuzdûl, Sindarin, Westron, and Black Speech rang through the air, and the shouts and screams of the dying pounded on the elf's ears. Everything was a mix of organized chaos, the armies jumbled together in a deadly yet purposeful melee.

The elves, men, and dwarves were far outnumbered but fought on against wave after wave of orcs and wargs. Side by side the Free People fought, adapting to and helping each other. It was amazing. Just a few hours before, they had been ready to fight each other until no one was left standing.

Now, their orders were simple: survive, and kill as many orcs and wargs as possible. The Enemy had similar intentions, though their only goal was to slaughter all of the dwarves, elves, and men they encountered. Even with three armies on their side, the enemies vastly outnumbered the Free People. That did not stop the smaller side from fighting, however.

Legolas left a trail of dead enemies in his wake, using all his skills to kill as many orcs and wargs as he could as quickly as possible. While the warriors around him blocked and exchanged blows, he killed, killed, _killed_. Legolas stabbed an orc on his left, and beheaded another, diving beneath an orc's blade, to leap up and stab the creature through the head.

A quick forward thrust with his left blade ended a warg, and a kick to an orc's kneecap sent him crashing to the ground. Legolas jabbed his knives down, pulling them free. He turned, leaned, and let a blade pass, striking the orc's shield hard and making the creature's arm go numb. Legolas grabbed the shield, slamming it up into the orc's head. The orc fell in a heap, skull caved in.

A warg sneaking up behind him lunged and he turned, forced to block as the warg's jaws snapped at him. The elf kicked the warg in the muzzle, making it howl in pain. He lunged, and stabbed it once in the jaw, up into its brain. He rolled out of the path of another warg, drawing his bow, aiming, releasing. The arrow hit the back of the warg's knee and it went down, its riding flying over its head and hitting the ground. The elf dashed over to the warg, ending its existence with a single stab.

Legolas scanned the battlefield, caught in a small lull. He spotted a golden-haired elf locking blades with an orc nearby, and tensed as the other did not notice the warg sneaking up on him. Knives were sheathed, and his bow drawn in a second. The warg jumped at the unsuspecting elf. The assassin fired, and his arrow his the warg's side, startling it enough that it missed the elf. The warg snarled, struggling to its feet. The golden-haired elf flinched and turned, finding himself inches from sharp teeth. The warg growled, jaws opening. Its body jerked and it slumped to the ground, revealing an arrow in the base of its skull.

The other elf looked up, and blue eyes met hidden violet. The sounds of the battle seemed to fade, and all Legolas could see was the other elf's face. Deep within himself, the assassin felt... _something_. For a moment he could not place it, but then he realized what that feeling was. It was recognition. He _knew_ the other elf.

Memories struggled to reach the surface of his mind but remained hidden, trapped and unable to be recalled. Still, Legolas felt a connection with the other elf. He knew him, somehow. He was important. The other elf— the elf with familiar golden hair and blue eyes— was... was...

Legolas could not remember.

Mere feet away, Thranduil felt the same unexplainable feeling that his hidden son did. He was confused, struggling to recognize the one who had saved him. His presence did not feel familiar— not at all— so why did he feel a _connection_ to this man?The other was cloaked and hooded with the Elvenking unable to even see his eyes, but he had to be a man, right? He was too tall to be a dwarf and did not glow like an elf. The Elvenking did not recognize him as one of his warriors anyway. So why did Thranduil feel like he should know him?

After what seemed like an eternity, but was only a miniscule moment of time, the sounds of battle returned to the two elves' ears. Thranduil blinked and focused, too much of a warrior to ignore the fight any longer. He nodded at the man that had saved him and returned to the battle, pushing all thoughts of the strange _connection_ he had felt with the other out of his mind. There was no time to ponder what he felt, not now in the middle of war. Thranduil vanished in the chaos.

Legolas felt a sharp pang of loss as the other elf left, an unexplainable feeling of grief, sadness, and hurt rising within him. He pushed the feeling away before he too focused on the battle once more. He slashed a warg down its side, cutting it open, then stabbed an orc in the gut. He spun, blades sweeping in an arc and slicing three other enemies, then ran forward and leapt, landing on the back of a warg behind its rider. He stabbed the orc before severing the warg's spine, jumping clear as the creature screamed and collapsed to the ground.

Like a serpent striking his blades flicked out, sinking into another. His daggers caught in the orc's chain mail, the metal twisting around his blades, making them stick. An orc, sighting his trapped weapons, charged at him. Legolas released his knives and rose to meet the creature. He dodged the swipe, jabbing a pressure point in the orc's arm to make it release its sword. Before the sword hit the ground, the elf grabbed the orc's head and turned it sharply to the side with all his strength.

_Crack!_

With a harsh snapping sound, the orc's neck broke. The assassin let the body fall to the ground, retrieving his knives. Once again he scanned the battle, searching for allies that needed assistance. He recognized Thorin fighting close by, with his nephews not far away from their uncle. They were surrounded by orcs but doing well, keeping the enemies back and hacking through them with the skill of great warriors. But none of them saw what the elf could see.

An orc archer was standing not far from the three dwarves, a circle of his kin around him. An arrow was drawn back in his bow, which was pointed directly at Thorin.

"Look out!" Legolas shouted, running at the dwarves.

Thorin turned, eyes widening as the arrow sped towards him. The assassin hit his side, knocking him down and out of the arrow's path. Instantly the elf was on his feet, shooting the archer that had tried to take the King's life. The elf turned and Thorin found himself looking into piercing violet eyes.

"Are you unharmed?" Legolas asked in his musical voice.

Internally, Thorin reeled in shock. Until the other had spoken he had thought his savior had been a man. But that was not the case. He had been saved by an elf! He could not believe it. "Yes." the dwarf said shortly, showing none of his stunned thoughts on his face. He scowled at the next wave of incoming enemies as another band of orcs and wargs charged towards them.

"Kill the Dwarf King!" one orc screeched, sword held aloft. "Kill the Line of Durin, and you will be rewarded!"

The orcs and wargs responded with bellows and roars of their own, surrounding the four. Instinctively, the three dwarves and one elf made a square, watching each others' backs as the orcs and wargs closed in. Legolas quickly adjusted his fighting style, careful to block and redirect blows instead of dodging them. His had allies behind him now, and could not let the enemy's attacks swing by him.

The dwarves and elf stabbed at enemies that came close, a shield of deadly blades protecting them from and felling their foes. It was like they had fought together all of their lives, each noting and making sure to complement each others' fighting styles, covering their mistakes and working together like one mind. When Thorin slayed the closest orc, Legolas killed the next closest one. When Kili drew his bow and shot arrows into the masses, Thorin and Fili kept their enemies away from him. When Fili misjudged a swing and stumbled, Kili and Legolas kept the orcs and wargs back while he recovered.

Piles of corpses surrounded the four warriors, and by their blades many of their enemies fell. But their allies were also dying, and Legolas could not help but scream in rage internally as he saw a man lose his head, an elf fall to a spear, and a dwarf get mauled by a warg. The orcs and wargs kept coming, not tiring, confident in the strength of their numbers and that they would eventually win and decimate the smaller forces that stood against them.

Kili said what the elf was thinking. "There's still so many..."

Thorin gritted his teeth, speaking harshly but encouragingly to his nephews. "Keep fighting! For Erebor!"

The surrounding elves, men, and dwarves took up the cry, adding their own.

"For Erebor!"

"For Laketown!"

"For Dale!"

"For Mirkwood!"

"For Middle-earth!"

Once more the three armies rallied, attacking the ocean of orcs and wargs with all of the determination and valor of their races. If they were going to die, they would go out fighting, and take down as many of the enemy as they could before they passed on.

At that moment loud, earth-shaking roar ripped through the air, making the defenders flinch and cringe. It was a horrible, fear-inspiring sound, and both allies and enemies found themselves trembling beneath its might. Expecting a new, terrible attack made by the enemy, the elves, men and dwarves turned towards the noise. To their surprise and awe, a giant bear was wading through the orcs and wargs, roaring as he decimated their ranks. Before a cheer could rise from the Free People, a new shout sounded through the air, carrying easily over the bear's roars.

"The Eagles! The Eagles are coming!"

And the Eagles appeared, swooping down on the orcs and wargs. Legolas looked at Thorin and saw the dwarf looking at him with a relieved smile on his face. And although the King Under the Mountain could not see it, Legolas smiled back. The Eagles and bear had turned the tide. The orcs and wargs no longer held the advantage. It was practically over. They had done it.

The Battle of the Five Armies was won.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

Even after years of being unoccupied except for a dragon, Erebor was still magnificent and beautiful. Now that the threats of Smaug, siege, and battle were gone, Bilbo took the time to marvel at the craftsmanship of the dwarves. He was in the throne room of the city, standing before a dwarf who mere days ago cast him out and called him traitor.

Thorin sat upon the throne of his forebears, back straight and head held high. He no longer wore the garb of a warrior, but the elegant robes and cloak of the King Under the Mountain. Kili and Fili stood at the sides of his throne, cleaned up and more well-dressed than Bilbo had ever seen them. Bilbo's eyes met the youngest dwarf's for a moment and Kili grinned, winking cheerily at him.

Thorin's coronation and the brothers' formal acceptance of the titles "Crown Prince" and "Prince" had been a couple days before, and the future of Erebor was looking up. The orc and warg threat, along with the battle that followed, had knocked sense into Thorin, and he began peaceful talks with those he had slighted. The Dwarf King gave Thranduil, Bard, and the men of Laketown the gold they had asked for, and justly deserved.

Treaties, agreements, and alliances had been forged between the three races, the hope for a prosperous future and a united stand against the Shadow bringing them together for the first time in thousands of years. Bilbo did not know what had caused Thorin to let go of his anger and hatred of elves, but a good change had come over the King. Now, Bilbo stood before the King and his nephews, the other dwarves that had participated in the quest standing beside him.

"Bilbo Baggins." Thorin said. "Again and again I judged you harshly, and thought you were not worthy of being a part of the quest. But again and again you proved how wrong I was." Thorin rose, walking forward to stand in front of the hobbit. He placed a hand on Bilbo's shoulder. "I apologize for my treatment of you, and wish to inform you that I am proud to have fought at your side. I hope that my lapse in sanity can be forgiven, and that we can be friends once more."

"Our friendship was never severed." Bilbo said with a smile.

Thorin returned the grin, eyes bright with joy few had ever seen. "Even with the Shadow still growing and darkening this land, the future is looking bright." His expression changed, and Bilbo swore he saw a hint of mischief in the serious King's eyes. "Now that that is over with, there is someone I would like you all to meet."

"Hello Bilbo!" a familiar voice said in the hobbit's ear.

"GAH!" Bilbo shrieked, and all of the dwarves except Thorin, Fili, and Kili jumped. "_Will you stop that!_"

"No." Esgal said simply.

In response to the glare he got, the assassin grinned. His hood was down, revealing his facial features, light blonde hair, and pointed ears.

"What is an _elf_ doing here?!" Gloin demanded, hand drifting towards his weapon.

"Esgal saved my life in the Battle of the Five Armies. He pushed me out of the way of an arrow and fought at my nephews' and my sides for its remainder of the battle. He is a friend," Thorin said firmly. His sharp gaze landed on Bilbo and his lips twitched. "I assume you already know Esgal."

"Yes." Bilbo said shortly. "He takes pleasure in taking years off of my lifespan by giving me heart attacks."

"I can see why!" Gloin grumbled. "Make some noise would you, Elf?"

Esgal shrugged. "Asking me to make noise while moving is like asking a dwarf to sleep in a tree. It is most likely not going to happen."

A few of the dwarves tried to picture one of their kind in a tree and snorted, chuckling at the ridiculous image. A _dwarf_ in a _tree_? Like that would ever happen!

Bilbo looked at the elf, surprised by the calmness in which he spoke to the dwarves. He knew Esgal had trouble trusting others, and the fact that he had revealed himself to so many people stunned the hobbit. But other than the small hint of tension in his shoulders, the assassin did not look nervous or wary in the slightest. Bilbo's eyes drifted back to Thorin, and his shock only grew as the King Under the Mountain laughed with the others. And though he stood close to the elf, the dwarf's stance held no animosity or anger.

It was then that realization clicked in Bilbo's mind, and he understood Esgal's reasoning. Esgal was the reason Thorin was willing to trust and make the alliance with the elves. However, many of the other dwarves— most in positions of power or influence in Erebor— still carried mistrust and prejudice. Esgal was revealing himself now to show the dwarves that elves were people too, and could be friendly, strong allies. It was one thing to see an elf while negotiating a treaty or fighting in a battle, but another to see them laughing, smiling, and at ease with old friends. Exposure to Esgal had knocked Bilbo's childish, god-like vision of elves out of his head, and would hopefully help these dwarves see that they were not stuffy, distant, cold immortals that cared only for their own race.

Bilbo felt a swell of pride for his friend, knowing how hard it must be to show himself like this. The elf was hiding it well but the hobbit, a good friend of his, could see his nervousness. _You really are a good person, Esgal. You think you are only good at killing, but you do so much more than that. You care enough about strengthening relations between Elves and Dwarves to show yourself and try to make them understand the other race a little better. Ha. The elves have no idea how much you do for them, __and you don't either._

Thorin sobered, looking solemnly at the elf. "Once again, I thank you for saving my life."

"Anyone would have," the elf said seriously.

"Perhaps." Thorin said. "But it was because _you_ fought directly aside dwarves that I believed an alliance between our races was possible." He offered his arm and Esgal clasped it. "You have my sincere thanks, for saving my life from orcs and saving me from myself. From now on and until our races go their separate ways, you will always be welcome in Erebor, Esgal."

**LOTRLOTRLOTR**

**A/N: (Dives behind cover) I REGRET NOTHING! Yeah, Thranduil did not recognize Legolas. He did not see his hair or violet eyes (Besides, Elfling Legolas had the silver-blue eyes of his mother, remember?), and thought he was a Man. They were so close... but so far. :'(**

**This chapter was an AU version of the Battle of the Five Armies. Some of the events were kinda the same, others are completely made up. Those of you who know what happens in The Hobbit can see the obvious AU parts I added... including certain people's survival.**

**And yeah, Bard was OOC in that part but that was because he was sick.**

**Thank you to everyone who reviewed! (hugs) :D**

**Responses to Guest reviews:**

**To "emi": Thank you! Your English is great! :) There will eventually be interaction between him and Gandalf, but not during the Erebor quest arc (kinda obvious since its over now). You got the answer? Congrats! just in time too. I'm leaning towards brothers vs brothers right now for pranks. ;)  
**

**To "Issy": Thanks!**

**To "Naomi": Thank you for reviewing! He will soon. REALLY soon... ;)**

**To "Fishina": Thank you! No, Radagast did not tell Gandalf.**

**To "FalenOfTheForest": Thanks! I try to update once a week, usually on Monday. Unless I don't have internet access... **

**To "SilverNM": Thank you!**

**Please review!**


	14. 13: Meeting Hope

**A/N: At the library once again so I decided to update. You guys really encouraged me with all of the reviews for last chapter, so here's the next one, only two days later! :D**

**LOTRLOTRLOTR**

**Chapter Thirteen: Meeting Hope**

_Third Age 2956 (55 years ago...)_

Legolas ran.

He ran as if Sauron himself were chasing him, leaping and bounding through the trees with a speed so great his vision blurred. The reason for his haste? What had started off as a vague tip-off hinting at danger had turned into a race against time. Legolas carried news that if ignored or delivered too late meant death for a person whose demise would shift the balance of the war in Sauron's favor. What was the information the elf carried?

The Witch-King was sending an assassin after Elvenking Thranduil.

Legolas did not know why the Nazgûl Lord had decided to kill the Sindar now. Everyone knew that Mirkwood would suffer if Thranduil died, even with his eldest son, Aglar, prepared to take the throne. The death of their King would be a terrible blow against the elves that greatly held back the Shadow. Which was why Legolas was going to make sure the assassin the Witch-King sent would not succeed.

The elven assassin's feet pounded against his perches as he pushed himself to go faster. He had no idea when the evil assassin was going to strike. He had to warn the elves! Legolas knew that ever since his escape, Sauron had decided hiring assassins was less costly than risking another renegade. All of Sauron's hired professional killers were men, mostly from the East. They were highly dangerous and well-trained, able to hide in the shadows as easily as the elf.

However, they did not have Legolas's experience and heightened senses. The elf could only hope it would be enough so that he could sense and stop the other assassin before he could kill his target. If not... staying hidden would no longer matter. There was no way that Legolas was going to let the Elvenking die.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

The sounds of the horses' hooves were muffled on the dirt-and-stone road that the eight stallions trod on. Their riders were all from Rivendell, intent on reaching the palace of the Elvenking before nightfall. The party included Elrond, his twin sons, Aragorn— more commonly known as Estel—, Glorfindel, Erestor, and three warriors of Imladris. The purpose of their visit was mostly at the request of the Elvenking, partly social, and partly because such a visit was far overdue.

Recently, Elrond had created a new antidote to Spider venom, using herbs commonly found in Mirkwood. The instructions and preparation of the medicine was complicated and specific, a single mix up or mistake making a poison instead of a healing potion. As such, Elrond and Thranduil had agreed it would be better to have the Elf Lord travel to Mirkwood and teach the healers there the antidote himself in order to avoid harm and potential fatalities.

Elrond's sons were traveling with him for safety and because the twins wanted to see their Mirkwood Royal Family friends and introduce them to their adopted brother. At twenty-five years of age, Aragorn was a grown man by human standards, but still quite young to both Men and Elves. He had found out about his heritage seven years ago, at the age of eighteen. He had gone out to join the Rangers and explore Middle-earth right after, just recently returning to his family. The man still felt guilty whenever he remembered how Elrond had greeted him when he had finally returned. The Elf Lord had hugged him tightly, as if he were afraid his son would fade away if he let go.

Aragorn knew his departure had been abrupt after he had learned the truth, but he did not know it had affected his family so badly. He had been angry and upset at them all, understanding why Elrond had kept such information from him but still bitter over the truth about his ancestry. Now a terrible destiny hovered over him, like a lingering doom in the back of his mind that refused to leave. The man would rather be in self-imposed exile than claim the throne of Gondor To himself, he was Strider the Ranger and Estel, son of Elrond, not Aragorn, Heir of Isildur and Elessar, future King of Gondor.

But it was not only the thought of one day becoming King that burdened the man, but also thoughts and worries about Sauron and the growing Shadow. The Dark Lord was looking for him. Well, not _him_ specifically— not yet anyway. Sauron and his Nazgûl were ever-searching for signs that the line of Kings continued. They had had no luck finding proof of the vague rumors that the elves of Rivendell or Lothlorien had raised and hid the next King. Still, even the least detailed rumors were enough to draw the Shadow's attention. So Aragorn was forced to be careful, only sharing his real name and heritage with very few people. One could never be certain who overheard.

Glorfindel was also traveling with his Lord in case of trouble on the road, while Erestor went with them with the intent of making copies of the antidote recipe for the healers' use once in the palace. Finally, Amulug and two other warriors named Rainor and Uilos were accompanying the party, serving as a partial warrior guard along with their charges. It was true that each member of the party could take care of and fight for themselves, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

Rainor and Uilos were likable and cheerful enough, talking with the twins and Aragorn while scanning the area, but Amulug was his usual dark self. The vengeful warrior distanced himself from the others, keeping to the edge of the group and not taking part in any discussions within. He did his job but obviously was not pleased with it, though the prospect of entering orc and Spider-infested Mirkwood cheered him up slightly.

Personally, Aragorn could not understand why Glorfindel had let the elf come on this mission. Tension between the warrior and Elrond had been rising steadily ever since the Elf Lord had adopted Aragorn. Amulug did not like the human— or any race other than elves— and made it obvious— when Elrond, Glorfindel, and Erestor were not around, anyway. He did not believe a human should live in Rivendell, and should especially not be adopted by the Hidden Valley's leader. Even now, Amulug was sending sharp glares in Aragorn's direction whenever the Elf Lords were not looking.

But that antagonism and distance was only a small crack compared to the rift that had formed between Amulug's group and the rest of Rivendell and Lothlorien. Over the past few decades, the warrior and his followers had traveled further and further away from Imladris to hunt orcs, their hatred of the Shadow rising more each passing day. Aragorn understood and respected the warriors for that, but their methods were questionable at times. He had been present ten years ago, when Amulug had been severely reprimanded for almost burning down a human town during his latest excursion. The warrior was careful to toe the line but never cross it, making sure not to give Elrond a reason to carry out his threat of exiling him and his followers from all elven realms.

The whole debacle disturbed and worried the House of Elrond. Amulug and his warriors were still soldiers of Rivendell and Lothlorien, yet at the same time they were almost not. While some returned home and reverted back into peaceful, fun, calm elves, others impatiently waited for the next hunt, a wild energy surrounding their every action and thought. It was unnatural for elves to wish to use the violence and anger that Amulug's group sometimes favored. This brought out a new fear that Elrond and his kin had never considered before. Somehow, in some way, the Darkness was affecting them.

After long years of distant notation on the behavioral changes in the angry elves, patterns and behavioral shifts were revealed. They were quick to anger, colder, snappish, and more apathetic. They distanced themselves from other elves except those with the same quirks. They were less prone to laugh and never sang, going about their day with stoic grimness. In Rivendell and Lothlorien such behavior was plainly unprovoked and disturbing to see in so many. There was no need for the elves to act like that in the Light, Ring-protected realms. The Shadow could not touch them there.

Apparently though, it could.

Only one linking element could be found between the elves with this strange personality shift. All of the elves had lost someone to the Shadow— wives, husbands, children, parents, or friends. It appeared that the void created by the loss and the grief that would tarnish their soul until they went West had been filled with hatred and anger. However, this odd personality change did not affect all elves, which brought an even worse truth to light. Whatever was happening, whatever was making these elves vengeful and angry, could most likely only infect them if they let it.

No one knew how it had happened, or what to do. It was not as if they had any solid proof, only the terrible instinct and sense that certain powerful elves possessed. It was not as if they could call the elves back to the light, like one could with a wound. This malady was like grief, almost like grief had been replaced by thoughts of vengeance, and could not be magicked away. Amulug and his warriors would only heal and fight the Shadow inside themselves if they wanted to. But they did not want to. And that was the problem.

Elrond and Galadriel had kept in contact about their Shadowed elves, and agreed there was nothing they could do now but wait. They could not order the elves West to heal, and outright telling the warriors about the problem would only make it worse. Aragorn knew how such a revelation would be taken. Amulug would claim that Elrond wa prejudiced against him, and would take his warriors and run. That would not help the Elf Lord and Lady of Light in their plan to keep an eye on these warriors. They could only hope that once the Darkness was defeated, the Shadows on the elves' souls would fade.

That time could not seem to happen fast enough, especially whenever Aragorn was with Amulug. The elf's attitude towards him varied from cold disdain to hostile action. The man had learned long ago to ignore the elf's hateful and hurtful words, and luckily physical attack was not a problem. Amulug's dark glares and cold sneers could be ignored, but they were utterly disturbing to the man. Sometimes, Aragorn swore that when Amulug looked at him with hate-filled eyes, something other than an elf was glaring at him, ready to rip him apart.

Still, Amulug never attacked him— no matter how much the elf looked like he wanted to at times— and insults technically were not a crime, so Aragorn did not speak of his unease to anyone. He had been ignoring Amulug for years and would continue to ignore him for a s long as he needed to. Besides, he was an adult now, and there was no need for him to go running to his father or brothers like a child who was having trouble with a bully.

"Estel?" The man turned to look at Elrohir, who was watching him with a concerned expression on his face. "Your mind was far away." the younger twin said once his brother's attention was on him. "What are you thinking so intently about? Is something bothering you?"

Aragorn shrugged and avoided his eyes, looking up into the treetops. "Nothing is bothering me."

Elrohir frowned but did not press him.

"Is there anything I should know before we get to the palace?" Aragorn asked his brothers, intent on drawing the subject away from his troubling thoughts. "I don't want to be thrown in the dungeons because I unintentionally insulted someone."

The twins thought about what he said.

"Don't speak lightly of the Shadow, orcs, or Spiders." Elladan said first. "Ever. These elves have lost a lot more to them than we have."

"Don't go out into the forest without a guide." Elrohir added suddenly. "I know you like to be alone to think but don't run off."

"You make me sound like a child," Aragorn grumbled.

"Not a child," Elladan said. "Just a man who can be quite reckless."

"_I'm_ reckless?" Aragorn spluttered indignantly. "You—"

"Don't try to watch any warriors training without telling them before they start," Elrohir interrupted. "The Mirkwood warriors can be as taut as bowstrings— no pun intended."

"So pretty much, I have to be careful or I'm going to get myself killed?" Aragorn asked dryly.

The twins nodded.

"Yes," Elrohir said. "Even with the mystery guardian killing off a bunch or orcs and Spiders, and Dol Guldur's loss in power after the White Council invaded it, Mirkwood is dangerous and its people are even more so. A joke at home can be a deep insult here. Also, I'm not sure how welcome you will be."

Aragorn frowned, instantly understanding his meaning. He knew that the Royal Family was slightly prejudiced against men. Thranduil and Aglar would be courteous out of diplomacy if they did not like him but the Ranger was not sure about the other Princes and Princesses.

"Fael will accept you, no doubts about it," Elladan said encouragingly. "Barhad as well. But Bereneth... well, if she doesn't she'll let you know. Hannel's in Lothlorien so you don't need to worry about her. I'm don't know how Megilag will be. But that's just the worst case scenario. Who knows, they might all be friendly towards you."

_I hope so... _Aragorn thought. _Otherwise this trip will be a __**very**__ unhappy one._

"That reminds," Elrohir said, and his voice was low and sober. "Don't mention the Lost Prince."

A solemn air came over the party at his words. Aragorn vaguely remembered the twins talking about the Lost Elf Prince when he was a child. The mix of grief and rage on their faces had always confused his younger self. It was only later that Aragorn was told the story of Celebrian and how she had been captured by orcs. The news that young Legolas had been taken by the vile creatures still hurt and angered the twins for that reason, even centuries after the event. And if it was still a touchy subject for them, it would only be more taboo with the Royal Family.

The man shook his head, thoughts filled with a mixture of anger, sadness, and grief. It pained him deeply that the orcs had taken, tortured, and killed a mere child. Then again, they were evil to their core, and morals did not exist within them. The Lost Prince was just another reminder of how cruel the Darkness could be.

"I'll remember that," Aragorn said grimly.

They rode on in silence for another half hour, moving at a steady pace. The road curved as they traveled along, a deep ravine carved into the earth on their right side. Elladan glanced down the deep chasm at the roiling waters below, whistling softly.

"I always forget how deep this is." the older twin said. "Be careful not to fall in, Estel."

The man scowled at his brother. "I fell in the river _once_, when I was five."

"And you fell off a tree when you were seven." Elrohir commented.

"And out of a second story window when you were ten," Elladan added.

"There was also that time you fell off a horse and into a pond when you were fifteen..." Glorfindel joined in.

"You do tend to fall off of, out of, and into things, Estel." Erestor said dryly.

The man did not endow him with a reply. "Are we almost there?" he asked Elrond.

The Elf Lord shook his head. "No. Though we should run into a patrol soon."

"Stop." Elrohir said suddenly, stopping his horse.

The others halted as well, all looking at the younger twin. Beneath them their mounts fidgeted nervously, ears flicking back and forth. Elrohir was silent for a long moment, eyes closed. Aragorn recognized his brother's stance as the one he took when concentrating on sensing something. Almost immediately the Peredhel's eyes snapped open and his head jerked back, looking upward.

"Above!"

Aragorn followed his gaze and caught a glimpse of odd reflections in the trees. Then Spiders were dropping down on them. The man was forced to leap from his horse as a Spider attempted to land directly on him. His stallion was unable to dodge the falling monster and it landed on his back, forcing the horse to the ground. Aragorn stabbed the Spider in the eye before it could kill his mount. The horse gave a neigh, almost like a thank you, and stood. The stallion gave the creature a firm kick, sending it flying into a few of its kin.

Nearby, most of the other travelers were still on their horses, but Elrond and Uilos's mounts were dead. The Elf Lord and Rivendell warrior were unharmed, back-to-back with swords drawn. With the two elves on foot, fleeing the Spiders would be impossible in these unfriendly woods. The Spiders screeched at and circled the elves and man, closing in on them.

"The strongest Spiders' bodies are protected by an exoskeleton so stab hard," Glorfindel said quickly, eyes never leaving the incoming monsters. "The eyes, neck, head, belly, and legs are the weakest points. Be careful with the legs though, some of them have limbs that are sharp like spears."

The lone man of the group acknowledged the Balrog-Slayer's statement by slicing off a Spider's head. He could hear the others fighting the Spiders around him, their shouts and war cries not distracting him from his own battle.

A Spider loomed over him, snapping at the Ranger with its pincers. Aragorn lodged his blade between the sharp appendages, unsheathing his dagger and stabbing the creature in the eye. It screamed and pulled away, freeing both his blades. The metal was now covered in the black blood of Dark creatures.

Ignoring the gore, the man sheathed the knife, holding his sword in both hands. He jumped backwards out of the path of a leaping Spider, stabbing it in the back. A horizontal swing severed three legs off another Spider. It fell sideways, shrieking and hissing. A quick thrust silenced it.

A sticky white substance shot through the air from above him, hitting Aragorn's left leg and arm. The man gave a yell as the Spider that created the web pulled on it, dragging the Ranger upwards. Aragorn slashed through the web with his sword, falling to the ground. The landing jostled him but did not hurt.

He rolled to the side but the Spider expected the move, landing on top of him and pinning his sword and right arm to the ground. He found himself inches from sharp black pincers. The man quickly unsheathed his dagger, only slightly hindered by the web loosely wrapped around his limb, and stabbed it into the Spider's gut. It screamed and fell next to him. Aragorn rolled away from the corpse, rising to his feet. The Ranger brushed as much of the web off as he could, renewing his full mobility.

He cut off a foreleg of another Spider, its hissing grating on his ears. The Ranger stabbed it directly between its pincers, jerking the blade free harshly. Spotting eight of the odd reflections in the trees again, Aragorn notched an arrow to his bow, firing the arrow. The projectile hit the Spider directly in its glassy eye, the corpse falling to the ground.

Looking at the grotesque body, Aragorn allowed himself a single moment to shudder. Normal spiders he had no fear of. These ones? Just a little. They were more than scary-looking. He stabbed another Spider in its large round body, sword easily stabbing through the exoskeleton despite Glorfindel's warning. So these were not even the largest and most dangerous Spiders in Mirkwood. The thought was not comforting.

The familiar hissing and clicking came from his right. Aragorn turned, eyes narrowing at they looked into the large black orbs of a Spider. This one did not rush him, pausing and screeching as it studied him. It seemed to be considering its next move. The man observed the monster just as intently. The standoff lasted only a few seconds before the Spider bust into motion, springing at the man. Aragorn stepped back, out of its path... and found himself wobbling precariously as his foot landed on the edge of the cliff behind him, almost sending him toppling into the ravine.

In the heat of battle, he had forgotten about the ravine, a rookie mistake the the man could already see Glorfindel scolding him for. Seeing its opponent's plight, the Spider lunged again, stabbing at him with its forelegs. The man blocked a blow, wavering, and another strike sent his sword flying from his hand. The force of the blow was enough to finish the job, his equilibrium failing completely as the shove unbalanced him fullt.

Unable to right himself, Aragorn fell backwards, plummeting over the edge of the cliff. He thought he heard one of the twins scream his name, but could not be sure over the sound of the air as it rushed past him. The man tumbled and spun as he fell towards the river, his uncontrolled free-fall soon to be halted by the rushing water. The brown-gray cliff he fell beside rushed by at incredible speeds, seeming to move while he stayed still. The impact was going to hurt, a lot. But oddly enough, though his body was tense with panic, his thoughts were calm. He was shocked, surprised, and bewildered, but unafraid as he fell.

_Perhaps I do fall off of things too much_, the man thought blankly, unable to fully register what was happening.

His head struck the side of the rocky ravine, and everything went black.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

Legolas was still running through the treetops when the shadowed trees sudden, hissing laughs made him lose his footing. The assassin fell three feet before he grabbed a branch, swinging up and landing on a sturdy limb. He glanced around at the trees, confused by their glee. Very few things could make shadowed trees excited like this. Usually their cheer meant something was having its life threatened. Even with Daelas's influence, the shadowed trees were still prone to sadistic streaks.

_What has made you all so pleased?_ He asked them cautiously.

The trees rustled and shook, still laughing their strange, distorted laughs. _Too-bright-glowing elves and a man ran into Spiders upriver_, they said happily.

The assassin stiffened, heart pounding in his chest. _What? Are any dead? _He asked, hiding his alarm.

_No_. The shadowed trees answered, irritated once more. _The too-bright elves are riding away now, alongside the river. Look at how fast they flee..._

Sometimes, dealing with the shadowed trees was plainly unnerving. Usually the trees remained relatively peaceful around Daelas, only one thing able to make them the cruel, Dark things that many saw them as. That "thing" was elves. The shadowed trees could not stand the too-bright elves, and even Daelas had trouble keeping them from harming his kin at times. If he asked them to leave the elves alone, they would, but that would not stop them from letting Spiders and orcs attack the elves. Because although the shadowed trees hated orcs and Spiders— they were the enemies of Daelas— they _despised_ the too-bright elves. The Shadow-born instinct to destroy the Light creatures was too great for them to want to assist the Eldar. But at least Legolas had gotten them to not try to kill the elves, for the most part. Otherwise the elves would barely be able to leave their cities and villages without being struck down by the shadowed trees.

_Are any of them injured?_ Legolas asked the trees, keeping his voice from sounding concerned.

_No. No elves are harmed. The man fell into the ravine_, the shadowed trees said dismissively.

They did not care about men. Men had no too-bright-glow but could not hear them like Daelas did. Humans were loud and a nuisance but not a threat to the trees or Daelas. The shadowed trees did not care about men. They were a short-lived, annoying race, but were only like gnats to the trees. It was amusing to scare men when they came into Mirkwood, but that was where the shadowed trees' interest in them ended.

Legolas was more curious and concerned. Could the man they spoke of be the assassin he searched for?That was unlikely, seeing as he seemed to be traveling with the elves. He looked upriver, then in the direction of the part of the river that was closest to him. He was less than a half-mile away, and could easily go to try to find the man. But what about his mission? He had to warn the Elvenking about the assassin!

_The man's elven companions are searching for him_, Legolas thought. _But they still have to climb down the cliff-face that swoops down after the ravine ends. That will take them a while. I'm closer and know this forest. I can find the man faster. If he's injured he will need help. _

_Where is the man now?_ The assassin asked the trees, voice neutral and betraying none of the urgency he felt.

_Downriver_, they said in that same, uncaring tone. _We can see him next to the water._

_Lead me there_, Legolas told them.

The trees' unpredictable moods shifted once more, interest and enthusiasm entering their thoughts. Daelas was interested in the man. They did not understand why, but they would show him the mortal. Following the trees' directions, the elf slowly became aware of the man's presence. It was strong but his energy was sluggish, so he was most likely unconscious or injured then.

The assassin was soon at the river. The location he had been led to was shortly after the ravine ended, where the land was barely above the waterline. Legolas spotted the man immediately, lying limp at the rushing water's edge.

He had dark hair and wore the garb of a Ranger. The man was laying on his side, facing away from the river, his clothes soaked and dripping water. A small trickle of blood was running down the side of his head. The elf could see him breathing, his chest rising and falling steadily. He could not have swallowed much water then.

Legolas ran up to the unconscious human, kneeling down and listening to his chest. His lungs were clear, confirming his first assessment. The assassin carefully felt around the small wound on the man's head, feeling no large contusions or unnatural bumps and edges that would suggest a broken skull. It was unlikely he had a serious head injury, and a quick scan of the rest of the man told Legolas he had no other broken bones or large wounds.

The elf shook his head in amazement. _You are either the luckiest human out there because you fell into __a ravine and only got a bump on the head, or you are the unluckiest man alive because you fell into a ravine at all._

He lifted the man, carrying him away from the water's edge and into the trees. The assassin set him down, leaning him against a tree and ripping off a part of his cloak, dabbing at the small cut on the man's temple. The bleeding had stopped, but the human would have an ugly bruise and a bump soon enough.

_Now what?_ Legolas questioned himself. _I have no idea of when the assassin is going to strike, only that he is already in Mirkwood. I need to warn the elves, but I can't just leave this man here alone—_

The man shifted, moaning.

Legolas leapt away from him, resisting the urge to reach for his weapons. He watched warily as silver eyes— _familiar_ eyes— fluttered open, a puzzled expression crossing the man's features. He looked around in confusion, eyes quickly landing on the elf. Instantly the man was on his feet, hand groping for a weapon that was no longer at his hip. Abandoning his useless search, the man settled into a defensive stance, ready to dodge or attack if necessary. He kept a careful eye on the cloaked and hooded figure in front of him. Legolas did not move, keeping his posture nonthreatening and calm.

"Relax." he said. "I am a friend."

Slowly, the elf reached up and lowered his hood and facial mask, revealing his hair, eyes, and other features. The man paused, peering at him but only blinked once in surprise as his silver eyes met Legolas's violet. He did not speak, keeping his silence. Elf and man stared at each other mutely for a time.

_Well, this is the first time __**I**__ am the one that has to instigate a conversation,_ Legolas thought. "You are a very lucky man." he said to the human. "Not many of your race would be able to fall in a ravine and escape from the encounter with only a bump and a few cuts to show for it. Do you hurt anywhere?"

"Nothing serious..." the man replied slowly. "I only have a headache and a few small aches. Other than that, I'm fine." His silver eyes scanned the trees, then looked up at the sun, like he was trying to judge his location. "I am downriver?"

"Yes." Legolas said simply. "I do not know where you fell in, but you can see the end of the ravine over there." The elf pointed at the distant cliff-like structure. "You have never been to Mirkwood before, have you?" he asked intuitively, noting the man's still-lost expression.

"No, I have not." he admitted reluctantly. "I was traveling to the Elvenking's palace with my father and brothers."

The elf's head tipped and he studied the man acutely. "All of your companions were elves." he stated.

The man paused, most likely wondering how he knew that, then nodded. "Yes..." His features— surprisingly easy for Legolas to read— shifted rapidly from wariness to conflict to pondering before settling into a decided expression. "My name is Estel, and I am the adopted son of Lord Elrond of Imladris."

_The adopted son of Lord Elrond? Could he be...?_ Legolas discreetly studied the man next to him, taking in the familiar dark hair, jawline, and bright silver eyes. Now he knew why the man's eyes were familiar. A smile flashed across the assassin's face. _It is! How quickly the years have passed. The last __time I saw you you were only a babe, Aragorn son of Arathorn._

Estel— Aragorn— was watching him, waiting for the elf to introduce himself. The elf took a moment to take in the man that the babe he had carried to Rivendell had become. The eye color and hair was the same, but the baby that had chewed on his hair was completely gone, replaced by a Ranger and warrior... and maybe, one day, a King.

Legolas did not see the babe he had taken to Imladris, or the child that Elrond, the twins, and many other elves sometimes saw when looking at their brother, son, or friend. He only saw a warrior and a grown man, with a fire in his eyes and determination in his brow. A man, that for some reason, he felt an instant connection with.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Estel." Legolas said with a small grin. "My name is Esgal."

LOTRLOTRLOTR

Man and elf stood on the riverbank, almost unaware of the world around them. They were focused on each other, halfway in and out of the mindset that the other might be a threat. Both were wary but cautiously reaching out and trusting each other in the smallest way. Soon that small crack in the gate that held their trust would burst open, and a friendship would be formed that few could compare to, even among the race of elves. But for now, the two guarded themselves, even as the far-less-trusting elf granted the human a smile.

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance as well, Esgal." Aragorn said, glancing down at his empty scabbard.

"If you had your sword when you fell into the river it is gone," the violet-eyed elf informed him.

The Ranger shook his head, wringing out a bit of his cloak. "I lost it before I fell into the ravine."

"During your fight with the Spiders, then." Esgal stated.

Aragorn glanced at him, eyes narrowed. "How do you know about that? And how do you know I was traveling only with elves?"

The glow-less elf's eyes closed and his head tipped, as if he were listening to something the man could not hear. "Normally Spiders only attack loners or those who wander into their nests, depending on the number of them compared to the number of elves they are facing. The ones that attacked you must have been desperate." He murmured, almost to himself.

The Ranger glared at him. "You did not answer my questions. In fact, you just completely ignored them!"

Violet eyes opened and met his silver orbs. "The trees told me of your battle and companions, Estel. They have just informed me that your adoptive father, Glorfindel, Erestor, and that moody warrior are headed to the palace to ask the Elvenking to send out a search party while your brothers and the other warrior continue to look for you."

That made Aragorn pause. "The trees told you?" He looked around at the dark, angry-looking shadowed trees around them. "But elves can only talk to Light trees."

A vaguely uncomfortable look crossed Esgal's face before he slipped back into a blank mask. "I can speak with the shadowed trees." he said shortly. "They assist me as well."

The man stared at him, all of the facts his father had told him about elves and shadowed trees running through his head. "Really? You can understand them? And they _listen_ to you?"

"Yes." the elf said after a pause. "I know their language and they do not hate me because I have no glow, unlike other elves."

"Amazing." Aragorn breathed. "I have never heard of an elf that..." he paused, mouth moving silently, before his eyes widened with realization. "You're the Hidden Guardian, aren't you?"

Esgal looked taken aback. "What?"

"The Hidden Guardian. The person that protects the forest and killed all of those orcs and Spiders." the man explained.

A perplexed expression crossed the elf's face. "I have never heard someone call me _that_ before."

The man blushed at his words. "Glorfindel used to tell me stories about the warrior that protected Middle-earth from the Shadow when I was younger. He never named you, just calling you "the warrior", so I decided to call you "the Hidden Guardian"."

"Glorfindel told you stories about me?" Esgal sounded flabbergasted. "I had no idea."

The man gave him a sharp look, piecing together bits of the puzzle. "You know each other." Aragorn stated slowly.

Esgal gave him a neutral look. "Do we?" he asked.

"Yes." the Ranger said firmly. "I can tell by both your words and tone."

The two stared intently at each other, Legolas debating whether he should deny it and Aragorn knowing he was right.

"... Fine. You're right. We do know each other." the elf admitted after a pause. "He is a close friend of mine." A frown crossed his face and his eyes darkened. "Speaking of friends, I'm afraicd that I have to cut this conversation short. I need to get to the palace."

"That was where I was traveling to." Aragorn said, stepping forward to stand in front of him. The news that the mysterious elf was the Hidden Guardian, and Glorfindel's friend had caused the remainder of the man's wariness to expire. "Why are you headed there?"

"The Witch-King has sent an assassin to kill the Elvenking." the elf said bluntly. "I must warn the elves and stop the assassin before he can kill his target."

Aragorn's entire person changed from slightly awed to determined and grim. "We had better get moving then." he stated.

He prepared himself for the elf to say no, that the man would only slow him down and get in the way. His brothers were out searching for him, he should stay here, the forest was dangerous, ect. It came as a surprise when Esgal only nodded, turning towards the forest.

"Follow me."

The elf ran into the forest and the man— after a startled pause— went after him. Aragorn was slightly faster than most humans but Esgal was still forced to move at a slower pace than his usual, particularly since he could not go bounding through the trees to reach his destination. They moved quickly through the forest, the elf leaving no trace and the man leaving only a small trail to follow. He was used to having to run through the woods.

"I am surprised that you are willing to pass on this message to the elves and thus reveal yourself to them." Aragorn said. "I may not know much about the Mirkwood elves and Royal Family but I am sure they do not know about you. Of you, perhaps, but not _know_ you."

"That assumption is correct." the elf said. "But my preference to remain an anonymous guardian does not matter as much as the warning I must give."

The Ranger nodded in agreement. "Do you know why the Witch-King has decided to kill Thranduil now? And how do you know about the assassin at all?"

"I followed a vague tip off and it turned out to be a large plan made by the Enemy." the elf told him. "Apparently the Witch-King thinks his forces will be able to return in force to Mirkwood if the Elvenking dies."

"That is a very real assumption," Aragorn murmured darkly. "If Thranduil dies, the Woodland realm will be in chaos. The people will lose their will to fight."

"Exactly." Esgal said, and his violet eyes flashed in anger. "That is the way of the Shadow."

Not slowing, he leapt over a large root, the Ranger following suit.

"Esgal," Aragorn murmured suddenly, studying the elf beside him. ""Hidden." That is a name that suits you well. But still, what an interesting name it is."

The pale blonde-haired elf's eyebrow quirked upward as he looked at the man. "If you say so, _Hope_."

The man groaned, shaking his head. "Don't say it in Westron, _please_. It sounds like a girl's name!"

"It _is_ a girl's name," Esgal said innocently.

"Shut up, Elfling." the Ranger snapped irritably.

"Excuse me?" the elf asked quietly, violet eyes narrowing as his mood shifted from cheerful to dark.

His dangerous expression made the man quickly backtrack. "I didn't say anything."

Esgal smirked. "That's what I thought."

They continued on through the forest in companionable silence, focusing on reaching their goal. The uneven ground was passed over easily by both, the man showing great agility and sure-footedness for his kind. Being raised by elves really had its benefits.

The elf continued their conversation abruptly, almost making the Ranger trip as the silence between them was broken. "I call myself Esgal not only because I wish to hide from my enemies, but because my past is hidden from me. I do not remember my birth parents or where I come from. I do not even remember my mother's hair color anymore. I was raised by a Dunedan named Ciaran from when I was five years old. He was killed by orcs many years ago."

"I'm sorry." Aragorn murmured.

A flicker of pain crossed Esgal's face before vanishing. "It is all right. The past is the past. Ever since my adoptive father's death I have made it my mission to fight against the Shadow. Mostly I assist by slaying orc patrols and rescuing people, it seems."

"From what I hear, you have a great part in keeping this forest from falling into darkness," the man mused. "It is amazing that one elf can do so much."

"I have help," the elf said modestly. "The shadowed trees assist me."

Aragorn did not respond. His eyes were on the ground, a frown marring his features. "Look at this." he said suddenly, kneeling on the ground and brushing aside some leaves.

Esgal knelt beside him, fist clenching at his side as he spotted what the man had seen. "That is a boot print. No elf would leave a mark like that."

"A man has been through here," the Ranger murmured, walking along slowly as he followed the barely noticeable trail. "He tried to hide his tracks but he failed, slipping up in small ways anyone who was not a tracker would not notice..."

"No man would come through here. Not alone." Esgal stated with surety. "Unless..." His violet eyes widened and he grinned slyly at the Ranger. "You do have quite the luck, Estel."

"Maybe...But once again my luck could be good or bad, depending on what happens next." Aragorn said softly, eyes on the broken twigs he spotted. "I do believe that we have found the assassin's trail."

_But will we be able to stop him, or will he stop us?_ The man thought.

**LOTRLOTRLOTR**

**A/N: You all knew this was going to happen eventually. :) I made sure not to have Legolas and Aragorn meet and bond when the man was a child in Rivendell because I didn't want Legolas to befriend Estel the child. I wanted him to become friends with Aragorn the adult.**

**Next chapter is a continuation of this one, so don't worry about a time skip. The last section was originally the beginning of next chapter but I decided to put it in this one. I may have to edit it a bit later so it fits more smoothly... Or am I just over-thinking it? ?O_O?**

**By the way, here's the answer to the word-mix up from Chapter Four: Village By the Sea (I forgot to put this last chapter):**

VOTE FAME BE THREATS HIT LIFE

Hints: The answer is six words. The second word starts with a "B". The first and fourth word are _the_ same.

Answer: THE BATTLE OF THE FIVE ARMIES

**Thank you all for reviewing! A very special thank you to "Pie In the Face" for being the 200th reviewer! YAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYY!**

**Responses to Guest reviewers:**

**To "ethuil": Thank you! **

**To "Issy": Thanks for reviewing! **

**To "Nightrunner144": Its fun to make Legolas scare Bilbo. :P Thank you! **

**To "Naomi": Thanks! ...I'm not answering that question. ;)**

**To "Fishina": He shows up next chapter. Thank you for reviewing! **

**To "kociak": Thanks!**

**To "emi": Thank you! I love to surprise people and hate following canon. I also hate being stuck with things like "Should I kill this guy because he died in canon or should I have the changes I made be enough to save him?" I did that with Thorin, Fili, and Kili because the AU wasn't different enough yet that I could avoid it. In that one instance it was worth it though. :) As we get into Part Two, the AU will be severe enough that I can disregard canon almost completely, and do my own thing. In my opinion, that's better than me following canon in an AU way. If I do the latter option, people will be thinking things like "Will Legolas save Boromir or not? Will he go with Frodo and Sam to destroy the Ring or stay with Aragorn? Will he stop Gandalf from falling in Moria or not?" etc. To be blunt, I would get bored writing the story if I did that. So be ready for more surprises. Like I said last chapter, the story will become _severely_ AU in Part Two. (...I think I just ranted at you. Oops. O_O')The smallest change in appearance can keep people from recognizing one another. This is especially true with Legolas and Thranduil because Legolas was a young child the last time they saw each other. It will be explained why Legolas never lets out his inner light later. It's partially a trust thing. You're right, if he does stop suppressing his inner light, his eyes will return to their silver-blue shade. I won't say anything else now. Fael and Legolas/Esgal will have a special, close bond... The elves of Mirkwood actually are not the last people who will discover him. ;) Wow. That response was long. :P**

**To "FalenOfTheForest": Thanks! There is going to be a Fellowship, but its purpose is going to be AU. Yes, Legolas will be in it. **

**Please review!**


	15. 14: Familiar Faces

**Disclaimer: I don't own Lord of the Rings.**

**A/N: Finally, I'm able to update! A little warning: My computer is still being a jerk and keeps changing and "devolving" (as in turning my documents into older versions of the document) my documents without me noticing. I haven't looked at this chapter for three weeks. If something seems out of place, rushed, misspelled, missing, or makes no sense at all, please tell me because my dumb laptop probably did something. :(**

**Enjoy the chapter!**

**LOTRLOTRLOTR**

**Chapter Fourteen: Familiar Faces**

_Third Age 2956 (55 years ago...)_

Aragorn truly was an extraordinary tracker, as was expected from a Ranger. He found each small unnatural indent in the earth and every broken twig and disturbed leaf that the human assassin left behind. Legolas— while adept at tracking targets— was nowhere near the man's level of expertise in the area.

"Your skills are impressive, Estel." the elven assassin said approvingly. "You are quite the Ranger."

Said Ranger looked up at him, dark eyebrows raised. "How do you know I am a Ranger?"

"Your skills and cloak, along with the way that you move through the forest," Legolas informed him. "It is not only your adopted family that makes you at home in the woods."

"You wear a similar cloak," Aragorn pointed out. "You are not a Ranger."

The elf shrugged, his dappled green-brown cloak rippling with the movement. "These colors help me to blend easily in the woods. But you are correct, I am no Ranger, through I have been mistaken for one many times."

"I can see that. Since you have no glow, you could be seen as a man if you hide your ears." the man said thoughtfully, studying the elf before returning his eyes to the ground.

"Yes. I use that to my advantage." the assassin explained. "Elves are not easily accepted in some places, and it is good to be underestimated."

Aragorn sighed, still moving along the trail few would notice. "Yet after a while, it is also _irritating_ to always be underestimated."

Legolas's eyes moved over the man's still-young features. There were no lines on his face from the sun and wind, and a youthful glow remained in his silver eyes. "You are young among your people and practically a child among the Eldar," he said knowingly. "And sometimes, you are treated as such." When the man looked at him sharply he continued. "Glorfindel spoke of you occasionally, so I know small bits about you, Estel. I have also interacted with many men and know that they can find family to be overprotective as they grow older."

The Ranger sighed, eyes returning to the human assassin's tracks. "You are correct. Ever since I returned from my extended journey, my family have been conflicted about me at times. Sometimes they wish to protect me, other times they know I am an adult and can take care of myself, and still other times they treat me like I am an ignorant child."

"You are no child, but you are still young and have much to learn, Estel." The assassin said. "You are Dunedan, and have plenty of time to improve and gain wisdom. Your family will learn to let you go eventually."

The man did not know what to say to that. Instead he spoke of the trail they were following. "We should catch up to him soon, before he can get to the palace."

Legolas closed his eyes, concentrating, and felt a vague presence nearby. "You are correct. He is close."

Surprise crossed Aragorn's features. "You can sense him?"

"Ciaran taught me how to sense all creatures." Legolas explained shortly. "I must ask you to remain here while I take care of the assassin."

The man bristled. "May I ask why?"

He gave the Ranger a pointed glare. "I am quite sure that you do not have any weapons other than that dagger, which will not help in this fight."

Aragorn grimaced. "What do you expect me to do then?"

Legolas pinned him with violet eyes. "Stay."

He vanished into the forest before the man could respond. Aragorn did not move for exactly two seconds before he tracked the human assassin once more. He knew that he would not be able to help much in the fight, but he was not about to let Esgal face an assassin alone. If the Witch-King had sent the man after the Elvenking, that meant that the assassin was a dangerous fighter, one that had most likely been handpicked by Sauron himself. The Ranger did not know if the elf could handle such an enemy. If he could, Aragorn would stay out of the fight. But if not, he would be there to assist Esgal.

Aragorn knew his motives were more than a need to do something and refusing to sit by and wait. He found himself caring for the strange elf he had just met, though he did not quite know why. Ever since discovering his heritage, Aragorn was slow to make and trust friends and allies. Yet here he was in the forest, going after a mysterious elf he had just met to assist him against an assassin that would kill him if he ever discovered that he was Isildur's Heir. Helpful, courageous, and genuine he might be, Aragorn still was not the type to interfere in the battles of others. But he found that he could not stay in the woods and wait for the victor to emerge from the battle between Esgal and the Witch-King's assassin. He had to make sure that the elf was going to be all right. He just _had_ to.

Perhaps it was because Esgal was the Hidden Guardian that Aragorn found himself trusting and caring for the elf so thoroughly. Or maybe it was because the elf's selfless nature in general. He had come to the man's assistance without being asked, and had planned on revealing himself to the elves to warn them of danger despite his wish to avoid them. Esgal may have been a seasoned warrior and killer, but the Ranger could see a youthfulness and genuine joy about him that was rarely seen in elves anymore.

It was ironic that Esgal, an elf who suppressed his inner light seemed like the most carefree and Light elf Aragorn had ever met while the other elves were beginning to be worn down by the Shadow. It was like the elves wore their inner light's and souls on their sleeves, allowing them to be tarnished, while Esgal guarded his and hid it from sight, keeping it safer and fully Light...

Aragorn shook his head, focusing on the tracks once more. Now was not the time for musings. Now was the time for action. He had to get to Esgal and the assassin.

Because regardless of his motives, he was not about to let the elf face this enemy alone.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

Legolas crouched in a tree, the limbs above his head hiding him in their shadows. He watched the Enemy's assassin walk carefully below him, the man moving quickly but not so fast that he made unnecessary noise. The man was an Easterling, wearing dark clothes with a face-mask much like the elf's. The human assassin seemed to be expecting an attack. His bow was in his hand with an arrow notched to the string. The violet-eyed assassin watched his movements carefully, noting every hidden weapon he spotted as the man's clothes pressed against his skin.

_Sword, throwing knives, garote, bow and arrows, shuriken. Hidden knives in his boots and sleeves, along with one on his lower back._ _A small vial in his chest pocket, most likely filled with poison..._

The elf put an arrow to his bow, sighting along the shaft. He pulled back, prepared to release the arrow. A glint caught his eye and he paused. Legolas's eyes moved along the exposed blade of the man's sword, noting the smoothness and perfection of the blade. His eyes widened slightly and he nodded to himself.

_So that is how it is. All right then._

His aim shifted, and he fired.

The Easterling assassin jerked in surprise as the arrow flew by him. He spun, sighting Legolas as the elf dropped to the ground, casting his bow aside. The other assassin raised his own bow, only to discover the string had been sliced in two. He stiffened, staring at it, then threw the useless weapon away, facing the elf. Violet eyes met dark brown and the Easterling nodded once in understanding.

Legolas lunged but the other assassin leapt backwards, avoiding his strike. The elf followed the move, stepping forward and stabbing at the man's throat. The other assassin dodged, hand flexing as a weapon fell into his palm. Legolas expected the move and avoided the throwing knife, stepping out of the weapon's path. The Easterling dashed forward, throwing several shuriken as he ran. Legolas dodged the throwing stars, blocking a few that came close to him, and let his enemy come.

The other assassin leapt at him, sword unsheathed. Legolas dodged his swings, leaning backwards to avoid a sweeping slash . He went on the offensive, stabbing at the other assassin with quick, rapid thrusts. The man evaded and blocked the first few attacks but one sharp blade made it past his defense, slicing his arm. The Easterling cursed and jumped back, reasserting himself before springing back into the fight.

The elf evaded a stab and blocked a blow aimed at his right side. He felt a small pinch in his right arm and felt it go numb. Before his dagger fell from his numb fingers, he twisted to the side out of the path of the Easterling's sword. He delivered a harsh blow to the man's shoulder, his blade sinking in up to the hilt. The man cried out and stumbled away, Legolas's knife still in his arm.

The elf took the momentary respite to press a point on his own shoulder, negating the pressure point the other assassin had used and sending a bolt of pain up his arm in the process. The violet-eyed assassin ignored the prickling pain in his limb and reengaged his enemy, not giving him time to recover.

He pulled his weapon from the man's shoulder, shifting sideways as the other tried to stab him once more. As the man's arm went past him, Legolas cut his sword-hand, fingers slipping into the other assassin's sleeve to deftly retrieve the garote kept there.

The human dropped his sword , blood dripping down his fingers. Ignoring the pain, he unsheathed the knives in his sleeves. A sharp blow sent the elf's remaining dagger flying. Legolas ducked and twisted, avoiding the blades. He hit the other assassin in the left forearm, using the same pressure point the man had used on him, and slammed his closed fist into the man's other hand.

There was a low crunching sound as theEasterling's hand broke, the knife slipping from his hold and falling to the ground. The elf moved behind the man, slipping the garote over the other's head, tightening it. The Enemy's assassin choked, panic quickly setting in as his air was cut off. He thrashed but the elf held him firmly, standing behind the man.

A kick to the back of the man's knee forced him to kneel, and Legolas gripped the man's head, twisting. With a _snap_ as loud as a lightning-strike in the silence, the man's neck broke, his death so quick it was unlikely that he even felt any pain.

The victor gently lowered his deceased enemy to the ground, laying him straight before standing. The elf looked down at his fallen enemy, an unreadable expression on his face. His thoughts were in turmoil, grimness, anger, and sadness flowing through him.

_That would have been me, if the Witch-King had succeeded in his plan_, Legolas thought numbly. _Except no one would have been here to stop me, and I would have assassinated the Elvenking._

There was no doubt in his mind about this. If Ciaran had not returned to the side of Good, Legolas would have been raised like the Witch-King wanted, and would have become the Hand of Sauron. Ciaran still would have trained him to the best of his ability, so Legolas would have the same skills as he did now, but only using them for a much darker purpose. Legolas shoved the "what ifs" from his mind. There were no benefits from thinking about what might have been if things had turned out differently.

Legolas turned and picked up his knives and bow. He sensed the person hiding in the trees and sighed. "You saw all of that, I presume?"

Aragorn emerged from the foliage cautiously. "I came to see if you needed help."

The assassin gave him a thin smile. "Thank you, but that was unnecessary."

Silver eyes landed on the dead enemy and the Ranger nodded in agreement. "I can see that. You fight... very well." He glanced at the elf, expression guarded. "You fought almost like him. Like an assassin."

Legolas hesitated, eyes not leaving the Ranger's face. "That is because I am one. Ciaran, the Dunedan that raised me, trained me to be an assassin. One that would defend the Free People of Middle-earth and fight against the Shadow."

Aragorn quietly studied the dead assassin a moment longer. He showed none of his thoughts on his face. "...Why didn't you just shoot him?" the man asked quietly. "You could have done it."

The elf was silent, trying to think of a way to explain. "Ciaran's teachings come from a variety of cultures, including that of the Easterlings. Against what you might believe, not all Easterlings fight for Sauron. In fact many of the Easterlings would never take part in the Shadow's plans. They believe in honor and fighting opponents with honor. That Easterling may have been an assassin, but he was one who followed their code of honor." The elf knelt and picked up the dead assassin's sword, showing it to Aragorn. "I know this because his blades are not notched."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Aragorn asked, confused.

Legoals frowned at him. "By notching the blade, you weaken it slightly, the metal becoming more likely to crack, dull, or even break. In the East, notched blades are the blades of pirates, corsairs, and dishonorable people. Those men use notches to show how many people they have killed. A large notch represents a male. A medium notch represents a female. And a small notch represents the death of a child with that blade. Those men— the one who are proud of killing so many of their own kind and wish to show it— are normally the type of people who work for Sauron. But this one had a blade that was not notched." He looked down at the man's calm face. "I do not know why he was working for the Witch-King, but he was an honorable man. I respect that, and as such, refused to shoot him from the shadows. When I came upon him, I shot at his bow, cutting the string, and dropped my own bow to the ground. That told him that I understood he was a man of honor, and would engage him in close combat." The elf's lips pressed together. "In the Easterling's culture, there is such a thing as an honorable and dishonorable or shameful death. It is their belief that an honorable death will send their spirit to their Hall of Mandos, and a shameful death will trap them in a terrible void for eternity. If I shot him in the back from the shadows in a sneak attack, his death would be dishonorable. But because I fought him in hand-to-hand and thus killed him, his death is honorable."

Aragorn stared at him. "I never knew that about the Easterlings." he said.

"Not all of them are evil you know." Legolas said flatly. "You Westerners would do well to learn more about them and other cultures in Middle-earth."

"When I return to Rivendell I will look into it." the man promised.

Legolas granted him a small smile. "Good." His expression sobered as his gaze returned to the assassin. "His body must be burned. Otherwise it will attract unwanted creatures."

The man and elf quickly built a pyre in the closest clearing. The dry wood they had gathered easily lit, a fire turning the Easterling's body to ash. Legolas watched the flames for a moment before turning away, walking back to the forest.

"We need to get moving. It is almost dark and your family is most likely frantic by now."

"All right then." Aragorn agreed. "You are still leading me to the palace?"

The elf gave him a flat look. "Why wouldn't I? I can't just leave you here to wander around alone. You might find a ravine to fall into."

The man had a defeated air about him. "When I am old and gray, you are still going to tease me about that, aren't you?"

"Of course," the assassin told him, laughing as they walked. "I will never let you forget it."

Aragorn groaned.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

With every step they took towards their destination, Aragorn could see Esgal become tenser. But instead of looking worried or nervous, the elf became frigid, a blank mask put in place. He could almost physically see the assassin debating whether he should reveal himself. His face held no emotion, but his body tensed and his eyes flickered as he thought.

"Why are you so wary of meeting the elves?" the Ranger asked the elf suddenly.

Esgal stepped over a protruding tree root, silent, and for a moment the man thought that he was not going to answer. Then the elf spoke. "For quite a while, whenever I think of showing myself to the elves, I get a terrible _feeling_. It is like my instincts are screaming at me to stay away from the elves, for my own safety. It is as if by remaining hidden, I am keeping myself out of the sight of people who would do me harm." His brow creased. "I do not know or understand why I feel like that. I do not fear my kin, and I know that they are not my enemy. They are not allies of the Shadow."

At his words, Aragorn's thoughts flashed to Amulug. "I'm not too sure about that..." the man muttered.

"What are you talking about?" Esgal asked sharply.

The man twitched and cursed himself for forgetting about elves' sensitive hearing. "Nothing important." he said hastily.

Esgal gave him a disbelieving look but let did not press him for the truth. He led the Ranger along a trail that only he could see, the elf finding the easiest path through the forest towards their destination. Slowly the trees grew brighter, their leaves turning from almost-black into a much healthier emerald shade. The tension and heaviness left the air, relieving Aragorn like a breath of cool breeze. They were in the Light part of Mirkwood now, the parts of the forest closest to the palace and still resisting the encompassing Darkness.

The elf stopped walking so abruptly that the man ran into his back. The man tensed, watching his companion with worry as Esgal turned to the left. His violet eyes narrowed and he peered into the forest intently. Aragorn subconsciously touched the hilt of his dagger, his only remaining weapon, eying the seemingly calm forest around him. He had to remind himself that even though this part of Mirkwood was not as black and dreary as the parts drowned in Shadow, it was still dangerous, and nowhere near as Light as Rivendell remained.

"What is it?" he asked softly, ready for enemies to leap at them from the foliage

Esgal was silent a moment, unmoving except for his eyes. Then he relaxed, though his gaze did not leave the direction he was facing. "Your brothers and another elf are over that way."

Aragorn felt a rush of relief before he winced. "They must be returning to the palace after searching for me."

He cringed at his own words. The Ranger could just imagine the stress and guilt the twins were feeling right now. They had not found him and were most likely blaming themselves for their failure. Eager to relieve the burden on his brothers' minds, Aragorn quickened his pace, running in the direction Esgal had indicated. Soon enough, the man could see three shapes moving through the forest. He recognized his brothers, but the third elf was a stranger, most likely a warrior of Mirkwood.

"Elladan!" the Ranger called. "Elrohir!"

All three elves turned. Their sharp eyes spotted him instantly, his movements negating any hiding affect his cloak may have had.

"Estel!" Elrohir cried, dismounting and running over to him.

Elladan and the silver-haired warrior followed quickly. Elrohir closed the distance between them first, pulling his brother into a hug.

"Are you all right?" he asked urgently, pulling back and scanning the man for any injuries.

"I'm fine,"Aragorn assured him. "Really." He insisted as the twin continued checking him.

Satisfied that the man truly was _not_ hiding any injuries and was indeed fine— for once— Elrohir stood back and glared at the man. "We've been searching all over for you! We thought you had died." Now anger was overtaking the twin's tone, a scolding and peeved note entering his voice. "What were you thinking, not staying near the river? You could have run into a Spiders' nest! How did you even find your way here?"

The Ranger ignored the comment about his competency in traveling through Mirkwood, instead answering the last query. "I had... help getting here." the Ranger admitted.

He glanced nervously at the trees where he knew Esgal was watching. Unless he had left already. Aragorn could not tell. Elrohir, Elladan, and Fael looked in the same direction as the man, confusion on their faces.

"Esgal?" the man called cautiously. "Will you come out? These are my brothers and..." He looked at the silver-haired elf apologetically.

"Fael. My name is Fael." the silver-haired elf introduced, looking in the same direction as the man with curiosity in his eyes.

In the forest, Legolas was motionless, watching the four peer in his direction while remaining hidden from their sight. The assassin remained quiet and did not answer Aragorn's call, debating with himself. A few steps. Only a few steps would bring him out into the open. A few steps would reveal him to three more elves he was nervous to meet.

Legolas closed his eyes, uncertain, and suddenly realized that the _feeling_ was not there. The instinct to remain hidden was absent, only natural nerves keeping him from moving. Confusion overcame the assassin for a moment— Why was the feeling not there?— but he pushed it aside. Taking a deep breath, the elf walked out of the shadows, into the open.

Elladan, Elrohir, and Fael jumped in surprise, the figure in a brown and green dappled cloak seeming to materialize out of the forest like a spirit. The first thing they noticed about the newcomer was his bright violet eyes. The eyes held their attention as fully as a spot of light in absolute darkness, the unnatural, glowing feature taking over every ounce of their observance. Then they blinked twice, broadening their awareness to take in his other features. Fair skin, pale blonde hair, pointed ears, a bow, and two long knives were all noted and filed away in their minds. Elladan and Elrohir lingered in mindless shock, but the sight of the hair sent a dull flare of pain through Fael's chest.

_His hair is the same color as Legolas's was..._

Fael felt like he should know this elf. He felt as if he had _met_ him somewhere before, and _recognized_ him in a way he could not explain. The hair was _familiar_. So, so familiar. But the eyes— the bright violet eyes that the Prince did not know were naturally silver-blue— stayed in his mind. His grief was much too old for him to clutch at a connection like similar hair color. If the eyes had been silver-blue, if he had not heard Aragorn call the elf "Esgal", if the elf was not a full adult that barely resembled the elfling brother he had lost, then Fael might have asked questions, demanded answers, and reached for strands of hope. But the death of his brother had long ago been accepted by Fael. And so he did not think further than that.

"Who are you?" the Prince asked instead.

"As Estel said, I am Esgal," the violet-eyed elf replied in his soft, musical voice.

"He helped me after I fell in the ravine and guided me here," Aragorn elaborated. He looked at the twins, a grin on his face. "He is the Hidden Guardian from Glorfindel's "stories", the one who has been killing orcs and saving people from the Shadow." A scowl crossed the man's features. "Speaking of which, I am going to have a talk with him about that later..."

To the three elves' surprise, Esgal rolled his eyes. "I told you, I asked Glorfindel not to speak about me. Although apparently my adventures are entertaining enough that he would tell them to a child..."

"Wait." Elladan interrupted. "_You_ are the Hidden Guardian? And you know _Glorfindel_? And he never told us or Ada?" The older twin had a flabbergasted expression on his face. "What did you do that made him willing not to tell _Ada_?"

Legolas shifted on his feet, glancing nervously at Elrohir. "When you were captured by orcs two hundred years ago, it was not Glorfindel that killed them and rescued you. It was me."

Elrohir's eyes widened and a smile broke out across his face. "I _knew_ that Glorfindel was hiding something!" he said triumphantly.

The assassin smiled hesitantly back at him. A moment later he stiffened, his instincts _screaming_ at him to hide. He sensed riders approaching, the bright presences of elves blurring together as they rode in a tight group. The others' reactions were opposite to the secretive elf's.

"Ada is coming," Elrohir reported, not noticing Esgal's sudden unease. The younger twin grinned at Aragorn. "I wonder if he'll go through with his threats this time and lock you away in a tower."

Aragorn huffed and was about to reply when he noticed Esgal's panicked expression. "Are you all right?" he asked, voice tinged with concern. He placed a hand on the elf's shoulder.

Legolas found himself mute, unable to speak as his flight instinct grew stronger with every passing second. Before he could attempt to reply or act on that instinct, the party of elves rode into the clearing. The group included Thranduil, Elrond, Glorfindel, Amulug, and a few of the warriors of Mirkwood.

"Estel!" Lord Elrond said, dismounting with a pack of healing herbs in tow and rushing over to his adoptive son.

Aragorn swiftly backed away. "I'm fine, Adar. Really. Elrohir already checked me over."

As Elrond ignored his son and searched him for wounds, Legolas remained motionless, trapped beneath the gazes of many of the elves, all of whom were wondering who the cloaked one hovering near the edge of the woods was. The elf's instincts were wailing at him so greatly he almost did not notice as the many of the elves' expressions turned from confusion to shock to guarded wariness before him. His attention was on the _threat_ he could sense nearby.

It was so close could _pinpoint_ it.

Legolas's eyes moved over the elves, separating their presences and inspecting them each individually. The bright, familiar presence almost distracted him but he moved on, intent of finding the threat. His eyes landed on the lone warrior in Rivendell colors and his senses shrieked in warning. Then the feeling of panic vanished completely, as if it knew that its warning was useless now. But Legolas could sense what he had been unconsciously hiding from.

Deep in the warrior's core, tarnishing his spirit and soul, was Darkness so black and empty that it was practically a void. The assassin could tell that it was not a creation of the warrior, and only partially a part of him. It was _something_ else, a separate being, like a parasite attached to a host. The warrior still glowed and showed no external signs of the Darkness, but the violet-eyed elf could sense his tainted energy, as rancid and repulsive as rotting meat. How could the elves not sense this evil in their companion?

"Esgal."

The sound of his name pulled Legolas from his disgust and horror. He calmed, focusing on what was going on around him once more. Aragorn was still being fussed over by Elrond and now Glorfindel as well, the twins observing in amusement. The Mirkwood warriors and Amulug, however, were watching the stranger in their midst warily. Legolas met their gazes levelly, resisting the urge to openly glare or growl at the Shadowed Elf. The assassin blinked twice, pushing all thoughts of Amulug from his mind, and looked at the one that had spoken, and almost reeled in shock.

He knew the elf that stood beside Fael— knew and remembered him from the Battle of the Five Armies, and knew but still forgot him from _before_. The golden hair and blue eyes were still sharp and recognizable, even when the elf was not covered in orc blood and in the garb of a King rather than a warrior. He was the elf the assassin had saved in the Battle. He was the one that Legoals knew but could not remember how. But the assassin recognized the elf in front of him in a different way, without even having to be introduced. Legolas could not believe it. _He_ had saved the life of the _Elvenking_.

Like they had many years ago, violet eyes met blue. Both elves felt a connection between them, a deep knowledge that they should _know_ each other more than they thought they did. Each recognized the other but also did not, but their confusion and _frustration—_ They could not figure out how they knew the other— remained hidden behind masks of serenity. Both were unable and unwilling to speak of this feeling, and so it festered, straining between them but failing to truly reach them both. Esgal and the Elvenking looked at each other, neither recognizing them for who they really were.

"You are the one that saved my life in the Battle," Thanduil stated, studying him intently with Fael at his side.

"Yes, my Lord, though I was unaware that it was you." Legolas responded, the words feeling odd on his tongue. My Lord? He should not be calling the Elvenking "My Lord". Thranduil was called...

He did not know.

"Well, it is nice that we are properly being introduced at last," Thranduil replied, even as the bond he felt with the other rebelled against the formality in his voice.

The Elvenking was bewildered by his own feelings, just like he had been the last time he had seen Esgal. Esgal. Hidden. What an odd name for an elf. Yet that had been the name that the elf had given Fael, who in turn had told Thranduil when his father had inquired about the elf who stayed at the edge of the trees and studied them in silence.

Thranduil only felt more conflicted now that he had seen his mysterious savior's features. The first thing he had noticed were the bright violet eyes. The second thing had been his hair. He had pale blonde hair. Hair that was so blonde it was almost white. Hair that was the exact shade the Legolas's had been.

It was not only because of the unexplainable connection that Thranduil stared at Esgal. He took in the elf's features in careful detail. The hair was right. The eyes were wrong. The face shape? The nose? The mouth? Were they right? It was so hard to tell, between and elfling and an adult—

Thranduil realized what he was doing and broke eye contact with Esgal, cursing himself. What was he doing, looking for similarities between this elf and the Lost Prince?

_Stop that_, the Elveking ordered himself sternly. _He cannot be Legolas. If he were, why would he tell us his name is Esgal? Why wouldn't he recognize me and his family? Besides, his eyes are violet, not the silver-blue of my wife and son. I need to stop this. I cannot let myself grasp at empty air. Legolas is __**dead**__. Ai Valar! I thought that I had let go long ago..._

But apparently, snippets of hope lingered. Curse his heart for being so desperate. Thranduil expected himself to be angry at Esgal for reminding him of his son, but all he felt was lingering sadness and bewilderment. The warriors, seeing their King's acceptance of the elf, relaxed, though Amulug remained unfriendly. However, all of them were staring at Legolas, making him uncomfortable.

A hand landed on the violet-eyed elf's shoulder and he looked up at Glorfindel, who smiled at him. "Thank you for keeping Estel from hurting himself on the way here." he said lightly. "Lord Elrond and I were quite worried about him. He likes to fall off of things, you know."

"I resent that!" the human said loudly.

Fael covered up a laugh with a snort,moving to stand beside the Ranger. "From what the twins have told me in the hours since they arrived, you attract trouble like moths to a flame."

A few of the elves laughed at Aragorn's expense as the two began to argue good-naturedly, and, just like that, all attention was drawn away from Legolas.

He had never felt more relieved.

Glorfindel spoke quietly to the violet-eyed elf beside him. "I see that you finally decided to show yourself."

"Yes." Legolas murmured. "I did not plan on it though."

The Balrog Slayer heard the tightness in his tone. His brow furrowed in concern. "Are you all right?"

The assassin's gaze moved back to Amulug, who was still staring at him with dark eyes. "I am and am not. I will explain later" he said softly.

It was then that he felt it.

Another presence of evil was close by, so small that it was masked by the vileness of Amulug's Shadow. It could easily be mistaken for the aura of an animal, if it did not reek of evil and Darkness. Because this presence was _not_ small, not really. It was merely hiding itself, not aiming for invisibility physically but through the senses, keeping elves like Elrohir from detecting his presence. It was a special technique from the East, used by Legolas himself almost constantly and much more efficiently.

It was a technique used by assassins.

The elf was moving before the thought fully registered, leaping for the Elvenking,

"NO!" he shouted, shoving Thranduil aside.

Both toppled to the ground, the arrow missing its target. It flew harmlessly into the trees. Ignoring the startled shouts around him, the elven assassin did not even pause, let a throwing knife drop into his left palm. His arm whipped forward and he released the weapon, the knife flying into the forest. There was a sharp gasp followed by a low thud and the Wood Elf knew he had hit his mark. He felt the assassin's life energy flicker before extinguishing, a void of black appearing where his soul had once resided.

There was a beat of silence before Legolas spoke. "Don't just stand there! Make sure he's dead!"

A few of the warriors broke out of their stupor and ran into the foliage.

"He is dead!" one of them called, returning to the clearing and staring at Legolas with awe. "That knife you threw hit him right in the forehead."

As the pale blonde-haired elf acknowledged his words with a nod, Thranduil sat up, wincing slightly and with a startled look on his face. His two sons— one of whom remained hidden from him— helped him to his feet. The Elvenking's robes had twigs and leaves stuck to them but he was not harmed from Esgal's life-saving shove.

"Are you all right, Ada?" Fael asked worriedly, just to make sure. From his vantage point, he had been unable to see if the arrow had nicked his father as if flew past, and he needed reassurance that his father had indeed avoided all injury.

"I'm fine." the Sindar assured the Prince, and turned to the violet-eyed elf beside him. "That's the second time you have saved my life, Esgal. Thank you."

"If I had been thinking I wouldn't have had to," Legolas said, disgusted with himself. "I should have known that the Witch-King would send two assassins after you. The one Estel and I encountered was that one's backup."

"_Assassins_?" Elladan shouted, picking up on the one word. "You fought _assassins_ on the way here?"

Legolas looked up to see everyone's eyes on him. He froze, a wide-eyed deer look coming over his face. He was not used to being the center of attention for so many people, and most definitely _not_ so many strangers. A hand landed on his shoulder, squeezing it gently and the assassin looked up, meeting Glorfindel's calm blue eyes. He relaxed, more at ease now that the Balrog Slayer had his back.

"For difficult targets, it is protocol to send two assassins to do the job," he explained hesitantly. "The assassin I just killed was meant to assassinate Elvenking Thranduil using a long range strike, and... the assassin Estel and I encountered was meant to kill you if the first one failed." The assassin looked at the silent Elvenking, nervous and wary once more. "That is why I came back to Mirkwood in the first place, to warn you about the assassins. I met Estel on the way and we found the other assassin's trail so..."

He trailed off, frozen and silent once more. Elrond's family, the Mirkwood Royals, and Glorfindel were still calm and listening intently, but the warriors and Amulug were looking upon him with hostile suspicion. Legolas felt movement at his right and turned to see Aragorn standing beside him, the human silently showing the elf his support. A moment later the twins were next to their brother and Fael moved to Esgal's left side, all silently glaring back at the elves. Some of them dropped their gazes nervously, quailing against the angry stares, but others continued to eye him like he was an orc in their midst. Then Thranduil stepped forward, a serious expression on his face.

"This is not the time or place for explanations. I say we all return to the palace, then move on from there." the Elvenking suggested smoothly, turning to Legolas. "For now, I just want to thank you for saving my life and helping us fight against the Shadow all these years. I am glad that you have decided to reveal yourself to us at last, Guardian of Mirkwood."

A few of the wiser warriors put the pieces together, eyes' brightening as they realized who the strange elf was. They no longer looked upon Esgal with suspicion, but respect and gratitude. Even the ones still in the dark relaxed as their King accepted the elf with no glow. If the Elvenking thought he was on their side, then they would follow by his example. Thranduil offered his hand, and Legolas took it, smiling slightly, and gave it a small shake.

The unexplainable connection he felt with the Elvenking and the Prince lingered at the back of his mind, and refused to leave.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

"What is this?" Saruman hissed, glaring at his blank palantir.

After the orcs' failure to capture one of the sons of Elrond, and their consequent deaths many years ago, Saruman had taken to observing any missions that he could. Using the Shadows inside vengeful elves, the White Wizard and the Witch-King could see into the Ring-protected realms without the elves noticing. They used the elves' own sight to spy on their enemies, only slight Darkness showing through their gaze.

The Witch-King had introduced this spell to Saruman not long ago, and the Istar had been stunned and pleased by the potency of Dark magic at his disposal. Unlike with many other spells, this spell used the Darkness inside the elves rather than Saruman's staff and energy. This allowed it to be used more often, and with little risk of a backfire. That was why the White Wizard had been so shocked when the scrying spell failed.

Saruman had tried to spy on the Elvenking through one of the most Shadowed elves, Amulug, to see if the assassins the Witch-King had sent had succeeded in assassinating Thranduil. Instead, he saw nothing but blackness. Saruman knew that Amulug had been with the Elvenking. He had seen them riding through the woods through the Shadowed Elf's eyes. But for some reason, the Wizard had been blind during the assassination attempt.

One moment the corrupt Istar was spying on Thranduil and the others as they rode. The next instant, blackness had slammed over Saruman's vision with such force that the backlash had sent the Wizard flying. Saruman could only think of one reason why his Sight was failing: Someone was blocking his power.

It was easy to stop Light magic from being used to scry into Dark places. All someone had to do was encompass an area in Darkness. This technique was used by the Witch-King to stop the likes of Galadriel from seeing into Minas Morgul. However, blocking Dark magic from seeing Light areas was much harder. Dark magic was inherently stronger than Light magic— especially now that the Shadow was growing so strong— so the use of such magic to stop seers from seeing should have been impossible. But Saruman knew that the power being used was Light. It had to be, because no Darkness would be able to resist the power used by the spell. That left the Istar and the Nazgûl Lord with a serious problem.

Saruman let his hand hover over the palantir, closing his eyes as the black orb glowed with magic. _"Witch-King."_ he called mentally. _"I have discovered a possible threat to us."_

There was a moment of silence before the Nazgûl answered, voice hissing and raspy in the White Wizard's mind. _"What threat do you speak of?"_

"_I was observing the elves through a Shadowed Elf's eyes, when someone blocked me from seeing what occurred." _The Istar explained. _"I became blind when Thranduil and his party entered a part of the forest, seeing nothing but blackness. I was unable to return to see what happened. I am still unable."_

There was a moment of silence on the Witch-King's end. Then, in a low and angry voice, he spoke. _"Someone is hiding the elves from our sight!_ _How is this possible? None can hide from my Master!"_

Saruman did not inform the Ringwraith that that was what _he_ just said, and kept his annoyance that the Ringwraith had double-checked before believing the Wizard to himself. As the Nazgul's anger grew, the Istar began to become aware of _something_ hidden at the back of the other's mind. Along with the Witch-King, he sensed something else listening in on their conversation.

It was a distant Darkness at the back of the Nazgûl's mind, but so deep and evil that the Wizard found himself unwilling to let his mind near it. He instinctively knew that whatever _it_ was was what allowed the scrying spell to work, and had created the Shadows inside the elves like Amulug. Saruman had never felt such Darkness before, and the presence of it chilled him. He had never noticed it lingering in any of his other conversations with the Wtich-King, but now that he was aware it existed, he knew it had always been there. How could he have not noticed before?

The Witch-King did not notice his ally's discomfort._ "He is too powerful to let live." _the Nazgûl growled. _"Send the closest orcs to Mirkwood. We must find him, and he must be destroyed!"_

**LOTRLOTRLOTR**

**A/N: See why Legolas stayed away from the elves? Saruman and the Witch-King were watching. Now they know someone was shielding/can shield the elves from their sight. And they plan on hunting that person _down_. BTW: The Witch-King doesn't realize it is Legolas because he doesn't know the extent of the elf's abilities and (unintentional) powers. _Legolas_ doesn't even know what he's doing. Here is what is happening pretty much: Legolas instinctively shields himself from all magic and Sight, using the skills that Ciaran taught him. However, rather than just shielding himself, he accidentally blacks out everything and everyone around him. So instead of letting "Seers" see someone talking to thin air, they see nothing at all. (Remember Galadriel from Elrohir's rescue?)**

**By the way: How did you like my expansion on the Easterlings?**

**Thank you for all of the... (looks up a complementary word in the thesaurus) marvelous reviews! Sorry if I didn't respond to you. **

**Responses to Guest reviews:**

**To "Fishina": Thank you! Trust me, Aragorn is going to be constantly teased about that. :P**

**To "ethuil": Thanks for reviewing! I'm not quite sure how he did either... All I can say is that he is the (un)luckiest man alive. **

**To "Nightrunner144": Thanks! Sorry, no injuries. I wrote three versions of the part with the second assassin. The first time, Legolas was injured. The second time, Thranduil was wounded. Then I got a new idea for next chapter, and realized I could not hurt either of them if I wanted it to work. So, no injuries this time! There will be injuries later.**

**To "emi": Thank you! Rambling is fun! :D You are correct about him being Esgal to them, not Legolas. You'll have to wait and see how it is revealed. Legolas has heard a couple things about the Lost Prince, but only small rumors and the fact that he died. He does not know the Lost Prince's name and none of the elves talk about the Lost Prince because it still hurts too much. (Plus it would either sadden or piss off the Royal Family if they did... O_O') So yeah, he doesn't know any info that would help him connect the dots. You saw what happened with the assassin. You'll see more of Amulug next chapter. It is not going to be a pretty encounter... The twins will eventually realize he is Brian, yes. He had his hood down when he walked out this chapter so they haven't made the connection yet. You'll see more elf reactions to the no-glow later. I like questions so keep on asking them if you want to! :D**

**To "TiTaN": Thank you! Count down the days until "Today/The Present"... many big things happen. ;)**

**To "Phoebe": Thanks! There was the meeting. Even though they didn't recognize each other... Stubborn elves. **

**To "FalenOfTheForest": Thanks for reviewing! **

**To "Naomi": Thank you!**

**Please review!**


	16. 15: Lose Yourself to Darkness

**Chapter Fifteen: Lose Yourself to Darkness**

_Third Age 2956 (55 years ago...)_

Legolas decided that he hated welcoming feasts. And parties. And celebrations of any kind. There were too many people, all of whom were too loud, and many of whom were nosy, inquisitive, _irritating_ beings that were always staring at him. Now that Aragorn had been found, a _formal_ feast had been thrown together to welcome Elrond and his party to Mirkwood. Along with it, the formal introduction of Estel, Son of Elrond to the Royal Family and the Council had occurred, most of the elves welcoming the man. "Esgal" had also been _formally_ introduced, dressed in _formal_ clothes that Fael had let him borrow to the _formal_ party.

Legolas hated formal. He hated parties. He hated being stuck inside a room filled with people, forced to make small talk with elves that approached him. He hated being faced with the same reactions to him and questions being asked again and again. The elf would be shocked that he did not glow. They would freeze as they saw his violet eyes. They would be surprised that he had saved the Elvenking not once, but twice, and was also the mysterious warrior and protector that had been killing orcs for so long.

"Why don't you glow?" they would ask. "Why are your eyes violet?" "Are you really the Guardian?" "Why did you hide yourself?", and so on.

Deciding that some of the answers were none of their _damn_ business, Legolas would respond with half-truths and vague answers. He was suppressing his glow. He had had violet eyes as long as he remembered, so _there_. Yes, he was the Guardian... Idiots. He would never answer the last one at all, avoiding doing so completely and only staring at the moron who asked with narrowed violet eyes until they left him alone.

The questions and responses became so repetitive that he was ready to bash his head against a wall. Or chuck a knife at the next person who asked. But Ciaran had taught him patience, so the assassin endured. Still, his patience was wearing dangerously thin, and he found himself fingering the knives he had hidden beneath the borrowed formal clothes more than once. He did not like the silky emerald green tunic and leggings that Fael had given him. He missed his own clothes, cloak, and face mask. At least he had been allowed to keep his boots, though Princess Hannel— who was apparently visiting from Lothlorien— had frowned at his choice of footwear.

The Royal Family's views on Esgal were mixed. Fael, Thranduil, Megilag, and Barhad accepted him openly, trusting him immediately because he had saved the Elvenking and had fought for the Light from the shadows for years. Aglar, Hannel, and Bereneth remained wary. The Crown Prince and the oldest Princess hid their suspicion well, but Legolas could see their tension and aversion. Bereneth openly glared at him whenever he thought he would not notice. He did not need to be a mind reader to know their thoughts.

_He has no glow. He is unnatural. He is dangerous. He killed all of those orcs. He is deadly. We do not know where he is from. He is an enigma. He is suspicious. How can we trust him? _

It was the thoughts of many elves from the Shadow-touched Woodland realm. While many were willing to trust their Elvenking's judgment, others would not accept such a powerful ally. Esgal was too secretive, too different, too deadly for them to trust him yet.

The elves' opinions of him did not matter to Legolas though, and he was not about to go out of his way to make every elf in Mirkwood like him. He was happy enough with the approval of Fael, Thranduil, Megilag, Barhad, Elladan, Elrohir, Elrond, and Erestor from Rivendell. These elves, who he had heard about from Glorfindel and interacted with, accepted him despite his uniqueness and skills.

Along with Aragorn, the violet-eyed elf had somehow begun a friendship with the twins and Fael. One moment they had just met, the next Legolas found himself comfortable and content to talk and laugh with all four of them. For an unknown reason, the assassin found himself staying closest to Fael and siding with him on many discussions against the twins. Perhaps it was because Fael was being ganged up on by the two of them, or because they both were from Mirkwood, but Legolas felt closer and more trusting of the silver-haired Prince.

At the same time, the rejection of the two Princesses and Crown Prince hurt the pale blonde-haired elf deeply. He did not understand it. He did not care about what many elves and strangers thought of him, but their shunning made almost physical pain shoot through Legolas's heart. Why should their opinions affect him so much?

Legolas groaned mentally as another inquisitive elf approached him, an elleth this time. He had quickly learned to be on guard around them. Few that were at the party were warriors, and most were interested in flirting. Legolas was most certainly _not interested_. He did not care about love, and would continue to _not_ for a long time. He was immortal. He had plenty of time to search for a mate later if he ever became interested, long after the Shadow was destroyed. Right now, a elleth's attempts only made him internally cringe.

These elleth did not know him, which led to two reasons for their interest: his looks or his reputation. The violet-eyed elf knew that he was handsome and beautiful, as all Eldar are, but also knew that his unique features and "mysteriousness" would attract the opposite sex like flies. He hated that they were interested only because of his looks and the stories told about him, not because of who he was and his personality. It sickened him, especially with being brought up by tales of Eithne and Ciaran's love. They were life-mates, not a sudden infatuation based on appearance and legend.

Tired of it all, Legolas pretended not to see the elleth approaching him and turned around, walking purposely towards the door. Formality or not, if he had to deal with one more idiot he was going to throw a dagger at someone. Preferably the idiot. Why was he even here anyway?

Oh, right. Apparently the party was to welcome all guests, including him.

Formalities _sucked_.

"Are you ready to jump off a cliff yet?" a voice asked teasingly in his ear.

Legolas turned and glared at Fael, not impressed by his joke. "No, but I swear that I'm going to _kill_ the next moron that tries to talk to me."

"They're not _all_ idiots," the Prince mock-protested. "They're just a little... lacking in the warrior-mindset department."

"They are Councilors, the nobles of this realm." the assassin stated. "Scholars and strategists for the most part, with only a few having taken part in war or battle. Either that or their new posts have made them forget what it was like to truly fight the Shadow." He gave the Prince a helpless look. "How can they not understand I do not wish to speak about my past?"

The silver-haired elf winced. "Everyone wants to know a good story. Only the warriors and those who truly face the Shadow truly know what it and its servants are like. You are a puzzle people want to solve."

"They had better be careful then," Legolas said darkly. "My pieces will cut them if they are not."

He spotted the elleth walking towards him again and groaned.

Fael snickered in an un-Princely manner. "I see that you are having trouble with the maidens as well."

"They're like wolves. They've been stalking me all night." the assassin muttered. "I meant my threat about the next fool that tries to talk to or flirt with me and I would rather not cause an incident. I'm out of here."

Fael chuckled as he watched the violet-eyed elf make a hasty retreat, leaving so quickly it was like he vanished out of thin air. The silver-haired elf glanced at the elleth and froze as his green orbs met determined brown eyes. Apparently, after seeing her original target leave, the elleth had picked a new ellon to bother. _Him_.

With the dignity of a Prince and the gracefulness of the Eldar, Fael fled out the door after the assassin.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

Aglar watched his brother follow Esgal, and could not stop the worry that came as Fael followed the mysterious elf alone. The Crown Prince knew that the silver-haired elf trusted the other and could take care of himself, but Aglar still tensed at the thought of his brother being with the stranger. He could not follow them, however. As Crown Prince, he had to stay at the gathering, exchanging niceties with the guests and playing the part of the Elvenking's Heir. That had not stopped him from observing the people around him, keeping his eye on his siblings as they spread out among the other elves.

Hannel was with her husband, Lachon, sitting at the table and smiling delicately as Barhad softly told her a recent discovery he had made while scouring the archives. Megilag was near one wall, flirting with a few elleth for the first time in years. Aglar did not know what had brightened his brother's spirits, but the silver-gold haired elf seemed happier and more relaxed than he had been in years. Bereneth was speaking animatedly with Tollui while glaring warningly at any ellon that started to approach her. She, unlike the males, could get away with punching those who flirted with her, and she knew it. The male elves knew it as well and kept their distance. Fael was now gone, following the elf that Aglar found that he could not trust.

"What is troubling you, ion-in?" Thranduil asked, noticing his son's posture.

"Fael just left," the Crown Princed reported. "He was following Esgal."

"Oh?" the Elvenking laughed, looking at the many disappointed elleth with amusement. "I think that I know why they have abandoned this gathering."

"...Are you sure we should trust Esgal?" Aglar murmured, an edge in his tone.

Thranduil looked at his son. "Why shouldn't we? He saved my life and is a solid ally in our fight against the Shadow."

The Crown Prince shifted on his feet. "He is also an enigma and a loose cannon, Adar."

The Elvenking frowned at Aglar. "Is he?"

"He is _dangerous_," the silver-haired elf stressed.

"Aren't we all?" Thranduil asked mildly.

"He's an assassin," Aglar hissed at last, deciding to be blunt. "You saw yourself how efficiently he killed the human assassin that tried to kill you. I have read the warriors' reports. Esgal has no past loyalties, many unnatural skills and powers, and has a past that he is _reluctant_ to share with us."

His father's blue eyes pierced him, pinning him in place. ""Unnatural"? Are you suspicious of him because of his eyes and lack of a glow?"

"Added to how good of a killer he is, yes." Aglar admitted stiffly.

Thranduil shook his head sadly, placing a hand on his eldest son's shoulder. "You are only seeing what Esgal can do and what he looks like, not the elf he is inside."

There was disappointment in his tone, making Aglar's stomach clench in response. He hated disappointing his father. It reminded him too much of the times he had returned from The Patrol so many years ago. Thranduil was not faded, grieving, or tired now, but he had the same grim look in his eyes. This time the Elvenking was stern, strong, and set in his decision as he looked upon his heir.

"That's not..." Aglar began but his father interrupted him before he could defend himself.

"I know that I am not the most accepting elf, but I had hoped you had not gained my suspicious nature. Esgal is not an enemy just because he is unique, deadly, and has secrets. I want you to see that. That being said, I expect you to get to know Esgal." he said firmly. "Do not judge him for what he has been trained to do or what he looks like. Judge him for who he is."

Aglar bit his lip and bowed slightly. "I will try, Adar." he said.

Thranduil smiled at him. "Good. Now, enjoy the party, Aglar. Tomorrow you will be stuck in negotiations with me when the dwarves from Erebor arrive with their new ideas for a trading agreement."

The Crown Prince spoke with a voice that was almost a whine. "Are you sure there isn't a patrol I could lead instead?"

His father smirked at him, blue eyes glinting. "If _I_ have to suffer through the negotiations, _you_ have to suffer with me."

Aglar grimaced. "Yes, Adar."

LOTRLOTRLOTR

Esgal sat up in a tree just outside the gate, leaning back against the bark with Fael at his side. The twins were a couple branches lower, and Aragorn was below them. The five were chattering about nothing, just relieved to be outside and away from the hustle and bustle of the palace and the party. The four elves claimed that they had left for peace and quiet— which the Ranger suspected was at least partly true for the assassin— but Aragorn knew for a fact that the twins had been targeted by the daughters of the Councilors and other elves at the party. The man had been greatly amused when the twins had bade a hasty retreat out of the room, meeting with Esgal and Fael outside.

Now all five were outside the palace, just inside the forest as the day slowly turned into night. Elrohir and Elladan began a competition of who could name more constellations and stars than the other. The other three watched them with amusement as they grew increasingly animated, squabbling with each other as they began to repeat old answers.

"I already said that one!" Elrohir accused, glaring at the older twin.

"You did not." Elladan defended. "I would have remembered if you did."

"You're cheating because I am _winning_," the younger twin said with a sniff.

"Am not!" the elder protested, tackling his brother.

Other races would have been horrified by the move being used so far up from the ground, but for elves there was no risk of falling. The still-Light tree holding the elves would not let them fall, laughing softly in their ears as the two older brothers tussled in its boughs. Aragorn and Fael guffawed with it, while Esgal chuckled quietly above them. The assassin— much more at ease out here than he had been inside the palace— dropped down next to Aragorn, peering up at the play-fighting elves.

"Do they always act like this?" he asked curiously as Elrohir succeeded in pinning his brother down on the tree limb. Elladan retaliated by tickling the younger, making him yelp and release him.

"Yes." the Ranger and Fael chorused in matching exasperated tones.

Hearing this, the twins paused, turning to stare at the two.

"Don't act all innocent," Elladan huffed. "You're just as bad at home, Estel."

"And you helped us replace Erestor's meeting-minute scrolls with tips on how to get an elleth when you came to Rivendell, Fael." Elrohir added triumphantly.

"Since I have been away from your terrible influence, I have matured." the Prince said coolly but his green eyes sparkled.

"I'm only twenty-five. What's your excuse?" the Ranger said.

The twins slowly looked at each other, and identical evil grins appeared on their faces. "Get them!" they shouted, leaping at the two.

Aragorn gave an undignified squawk and retreated to the ground, while Fael squeaked and fled further up the tree. The twins ganged up on the Prince, holding him down and tickling him.

"Look, he laughs like an elfling!" Elladan said with a smirk. "And you call yourself a _big_ _elf_."

"S-Stop that!" Fael gasped between laughs, mirthful tears running down his cheeks. "Ha ha! Esgal, h-help!"

The violet-eyed elf looked lazily up at the twins and their "captive". "Please let Fael go." he said casually.

"Or what?" Elrohir challenged.

Esgal idly brushed a strand of hair behind his pointed ear. "If you do not, I will sneak into your rooms, put honey in your eyebrows, write "dunce" on your foreheads, replace all of your clothes with maidens' dresses, and dye your hair a _beautiful_ shade of petunia pink, all while you sleep."

The twins froze, staring at him.

"You wouldn't." Elladan said slowly. "And couldn't. We'll be on our guard now."

Esgal gave him a deadpan look. "I have snuck into Rivendell, Lothlorien, Edoras, Minas Tirith, and some of the most Shadowed or most heavily guarded places in the world. I'm pretty sure that I could manage to do all of that without you noticing."

His four friends balked, gazing at him with wide eyes. However, it was not the assassin's threat of a prank that stunned them.

"Have you really gotten into those cities without being seen?" Aragorn asked the elf.

Esgal nodded, still casual though slightly confused, as if he did not understand how that was special. "Of course I have."

They continued to stare. The pale blonde-haired elf shifted beneath their intense eyes. Then the twins turned and looked at each other, a message passing between them. Two sets of identical silver eyes fell on Esgal once more, blazing and glittering almost maniacally.

"Esgal..." Elladan said solemnly, a glint in his eyes and a sinister grin on his face. "Can we use your skills for our own amusement and evil purposes?"

"Oh, no no no." Fael interrupted before the assassin could answer. "If he is going to be on anyone's side in a prank war it is going to be mine! I am all by myself against you three." He pointed at the three sons of Elrond dramatically then winked at Esgal. "Besides, we Mirkwood elves need to stick together."

Esgal smiled back at him, a full grin that revealed his pearly white teeth. Then his smile vanished and he looked down, violet eyes narrowing. Aragorn recognized the expression on the assassin's face.

"What's coming?" he asked urgently, wishing he had thought to bring his weapons with him. But of course, his bow, swords, and dagger had all been left in his room for the party.

"It is not an enemy that comes," Esgal reported quickly, dropping down next to the man. "It is just... Amulug."

He said the name neutrally, but alarm bells went off in the Ranger's head. Elrohir, Elladan, and Fael descended to the ground as well, all looking in the same direction as the assassin. A moment later Amulug emerged from the foliage, scowling and angry-looking as was his norm. He glared particularly at Aragorn, eyes narrowed and lips thin with dislike. The feeling was mutual.

"So this is where you ran off to?" the elf said coldly. "I had hoped that Lord Elrond taught you some basic protocol and manners." He continued to glare at the man like everything was his fault.

"We are out here as well, Amulug," Elladan pointed out calmly, expression neutral. "It was not just Estel that left the welcoming party."

"I can assure you that my family is not offended by their absence," Fael added with a smile that had to be fake.

The warrior ignored them, still glowering at Aragorn.

Suddenly he lashed out, hand wrapping around the man's wrist. The Ranger grunted in pain as the elf's strong grip tightened threateningly. He knew that a small twist would be enough to break his bone. His elven companions froze, realizing the same thing. Amulug glared at him with furious hazel eyes, close enough that the man could see flecks of blue and green in the midst of the brownish orbs.

"You are weak, _Aragorn_, _Son of Arathorn_." he spat, not acknowledging the three glowing elves as they stiffened. "It is the corruption of your race that allows the Shadow to plague this land. How _dare_ Elrond shelter filth like you, a mortal whose ancestor is the reason Darkness exists in this world!"

Aragorn was struck mute, eyes wide with horror as the elf snarled the name that was _not _safe, that could _not_ be spoken aloud, not even here so close to the palace. Fael and the twins were also shocked and alarmed, but were unable to act with the Ranger still in Amulug's grasp. Only Esgal was calm and unsurprised, regarding the angry elf with calculating violet eyes.

"Amulug." the assassin spoke the warrior's name, gaining his attention. "Let him go, please."

His voice was soft, calm, and pleasant, and his expression was blank and empty, as if he were merely asking the elf to pass him the sugar. But Aragorn could hear _something_ in his tone, something more dangerous and deadly than a warg's growl. Amulug's sharp elven hearing must have been failing him because he did not heed the subtle threat in Esgal's tone.

Instead he sneered at the violet-eyed elf, and challenged him. "_Make_ me."

Quick as a blink Esgal struck, gripping Amulug's hand between his finger and thumb. The other elf gave a gasp of pain, his other hand losing its hold on Aragorn's arm as agony shot through his left arm, into his torso. Still standing, the elf curled up slightly, eyes wide and mouth open in mute torment.

The assassin's expression had not changed, remaining scarily neutral. He did not speak, holding the pressure point for a moment longer in silent warning. Then he released Amulug and the elf stumbled back, cradling his hand. There was not even a bruise on his skin. The warrior flexed his fingers, glaring at Esgal.

Then his hate-filled gaze returned to Aragorn and his lips drew back in a snarl. For a moment the man was sure that the elf was going to attack him once more. But Amulug only spat at him, before turning on his heel and storming away, back towards the palace.

Esgal watched him go, waiting until he disappeared in the trees before speaking. "_Delorcion_."

"How did you _do_ that?" Fael questioned, impressed.

"A pressure point," the assassin replied. He turned to Aragorn. "Are you all right?"

"Yes..." the man said, pulling up his sleeve to reveal a bruised wrist.

Elrohir winced and gently took the appendage, probing carefully around the spot. "Its merely bruised, not strained or fractured." A scowl crossed his face. "I'm going to kill that Delorcion, or at least get Ada to kick him out. Not only did he hurt you but he also—" He stopped abruptly, looking nervously at Esgal. "Ah..."

"I won't tell anyone about Estel's heritage," the elf reassured them all, truly calm once more now that Amulug was away.

Elladan nodded shortly, hovering at Aragorn's right elbow. "Let's get back to the palace. We need to tell Ada about this."

With that mission in mind, they returned to the palace, only to discover that the party was over and the guests were headed home. After questioning a few elves, they tracked down Elrond to be with Thranduil in the King's study. Fael led the way to a simple oak door in the center of the palace. The Prince knocked three times, waiting until a voice called "Enter!" before walking into the room with the others. Thranduil. Elrond, Glorfindel, and Erestor were all leaning over a document, the half-elven Elf Lord pointing something out on the page. Glorfindel grinned cheerfully at them.

"I was wondering where you troublemakers ran off to. Have you caused any havoc yet?"

"No." Elladan said grimly, no joking in his tone. "Amulug just _attacked_ Estel."

That caught their attention faster than the word of any pranks could.

"_What?!_" Elrond snarled, the dangerous expression he wore only when one of his children was threatened darkening the usually serene Lord's aura.

Elladan explained the encounter in short, sharp sentences, the Elf Lord checking over Aragorn's wrist while his eldest son spoke. The elves reacted with a mixture of anger, disgust, shock, and horror. It was Elrond's reaction that was the most severe, however. The Elf Lord was not angry. He was livid, silver eyes blazing with rage and his hands were clenched so tightly the knuckles were white. It was the rare times like these that Aragorn spotted Elrond, the warrior who fought in the Last Alliance of Men and Elves instead of the calm, serene, healing Elf Lord he was used to. The Peredhel looked ready to take up his sword and slaughter Amulug— not that the man would complain if he did.

"This is the last straw!" Elrond growled, fist slamming down on the desktop and making half the people in the room jump. "If Amulug thinks he would be able to get away with attacking my son, he is about to get a wake up call!"

He stormed out of the study like an angel of death, presence so filled with fury and barely contained rage that any elves he encountered in the hall fled before his wrath. The other elves and one man followed the Elf Lord as he tracked down the object of his ire. Amulug was with Rainor and Uilos in the garden when Elrond found him.

The two not-Shadowed warriors noticed their angered Lord first and both leapt to their feet, paling as if Sauron himself had found them as they gauged the silver-eyed elf's mood. Amulug, on the other hand, looked up lazily, an unconcerned expression on his face. The cold warrior froze as his eyes met Elrond's deadly ones. Aragorn saw him swallow reflexively.

"My Lord—"

"Did you honestly think I would let this go?" the Peredhel began without preamble, voice livid and cold. "Did you honestly _believe_ that I would ignore the fact that you _attacked_ my son?"

Said son saw shocked, horrified, and angry expressions form on Rainor and Uilos's faces. It was obvious they did not know about the other's deeds, and were disgusted and stunned by them. Meanwhile, Amulug seemed to lose his fear, a calculating and emotionless mask covering his features. He stared at Elrond levelly.

"Explain your actions!" the Elf Lord commanded.

Amulug's gaze darkened. "I shouldn't have to defend myself. My actions were justified."

Aragorn swore that his father was going to throttle the other elf. But Elrond kept his distance, hands twitching the slightest bit as if he were holding back from striking the warrior. "Please tell me how you assaulting my son was "_justified_"." If a person's tone alone could kill, Amulug would already be in Mandos's Halls.

The warrior's barely-kept front shattered, his mask falling to reveal an expression that defined unrelenting _rage_. Despite himself Aragorn flinched away from the elf, the look twisting his features making him seem like a demented, distorted monster. It was almost like looking at an orc in an elf's pale, glowing skin.

"Isildur is the reason the One Ring still exists and Sauron still haunts this land!" Amulug spat. "He is the reason orcs still exist, and why they existed to kill my family! And yet you think that Aragorn will resist the corruption of his race and save Middle-earth." With each word the warrior grew more angry, more and more hatred making his voice animal-like snarl. "You are a _fool_! You call him the Hope of Men, but I know that he will fail and fall, just like his ancestors! He won't lead us to salvation. He will destroy everything!"

Elrond did not shrink away as the elf yelled in his face, keeping a stoic, impassive mask in place. But when he spoke, his voice held nothing but contempt. "You _disgust_ me. You claim that men are corrupt, yet you lash out like an animal with misplaced blame and vengeance on Aragorn and the race of Man in general. You think that elves are superior to humans, and yet you have fallen so far. Ever since your family passed, you have been reckless, selfish, and a danger to all around you. You disobeyed orders, attacked human settlements, and forced your allies into situations that have gotten many injured or killed. Again and again I passed off your actions as grief-driven and let you go with only a reprimand, but my tolerance has reached its _end_."

Elrond stood tall and proud before his warrior, eyes unforgiving and icy. "You hurt my son and revealed information that not only puts him, but all of Rivendell at risk. This crime is one I will never forgive. To attack one's Lord or his family and knowingly endanger their lives and my realm is _treason_. You know the punishment for treason."

Amulug paled slightly and moved as if to speak, but the Lord of Imladris did not let him.

"Amulug of Imladris, I hereby banish you from Rivendell and all other elven realms." Elrond stated, the image of an Elven Lord. Cold, uncaring, distant, apathetic, regal, icy.

Aragorn was shocked but not surprised by his father's statement. For immortal elves, exile from all elven realms, from all places they could find their kin, was almost as bad as a death sentence for humans. Forever was a long time for those who had no one to spend it with.

"If you step foot within any of the realms, for any reason, you will be imprisoned until your immortal life ends." the Peredhel looked down upon the exiled elf with contempt. "You have one day to remove yourself from the elven realm of Mirkwood. I suggest you start walking_._"

For a moment, the Ranger thought that the elf was not going to move. Then the proud warrior spun on his heel, not speaking a word, and stalked to the gates. He paused right under the archway, turning to glare intently at the man. He did not break his silence, but Aragorn could read the message in his eyes.

_You will pay._

As Amulug disappeared into the forest and the elves around him minus Esgal all relaxed. Said elves discussing what had happened in soft voices, Aragorn felt no relief, and a glance at the assassin's narrowed eyes told the Ranger that Esgal was not feeling less worried either.

The leader of a group of vengeful, angry elves was now gone from Rivendell, and Aragorn would no longer have to face accusing glares and hate-filled scowls every day. He should be _happy_. But he was not. Somehow, deep in his heart, the man knew that he would run into Amulug again. The confrontation was not going to be a happy one. In fact, he had a feeling it was going to be quite bloody.

Vengeful elves never forgot.

And they _never_ forgave.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

He was shocked. He was confused. But most of all, Amulug, exiled elf formerly from Rivendell, was enraged.

How _dare_ Elrond cast him out. How _dare_ that miserable Half-elf banish him, exile him because he attacked the Lord's precious son_._ _Son_. How any elf could see a weak Man as a son was beyond Amulug. His lip curled in disgust at the mere thought of being attached to a mortal at all. Still, Elrond had put the importance of that short-lived, weak, pathetic human over him, a warrior and proud immortal of Rivendell.

He had fought in the Last Alliance many centuries ago. He had gone with his family to Imladris afterward in the hope of starting a new life. He had remained loyal to his Lord and realm. Yet Elrond had the gall to cast him aside like trash, just because he "attacked" _Aragorn_. Aragorn, Son of Arathorn, Heir of Isildur.

Amulug knew that his "unprovoked attack" was justified. It was Isildur's fault that the One Ring was not destroyed. It was that stupid man's greed that caused the Shadow and Sauron to plague and slowly suffocate Middle-earth. Even being raised by elves would not help Aragorn resist the weakness of his ancestry and race.

Aragorn would fail. He would not defeat Sauron. He would either come across the Ring and give it back to the Dark Lord, or he would not be strong enough to overcome the Enemy and his forces. He would die in battle, or be executed, or run away and die as an old man, a failure and alone. The former Rivendell warrior knew this to be true. He knew of the weakness and corruption of man all too well. The Shadow of Sauron would not be defeated or even hindered by one so small and insignificant as a human.

"_**Come to me."**_

Amulug halted in his tracks and looked around in bewilderment. He looked around himself, seeing nothing but trees. But he had been sure that there had been a voice...

"_**Come to me."**_ the voice sounded again, dark and soothing, like a cat purring in his mind. _**"Come to me."**_

The exiled elf blinked rapidly, mind fogging and confusion taking over his thoughts. He knew that voice. He had heard it before. It was familiar, like an old friend, a whisper in the back of his mind...

"_**Come to me."**_ the voice said, gentle, calm, and serene, cool in his mind like liquid shadows.

Shadows... Like the Shadow. Like the Darkness, which he hated... Didn't he? Of course he did. The Shadow was evil. The Shadow had killed his family. The Shadow had—

"_**Come to me. Come to me. Come to me."**_

And suddenly Amulug _understood_. _Something_ flooded into him and his eyes were opened, able to see the world as it truly was. It was not the Shadow's fault that his family had died. It was their own fault. Their fault because they tried to fight the Darkness, because they did not understand. They did not understand the _truth_.

...Had he not just been hating the Shadow? No, that could not be right.

"_**Come to me."**_ the Darkness commanded.

So he came.

**LOTRLOTRLOTR**

**Translations:**

**Ada/Adar: Daddy/Dad/Father**

**Delorcion: Bastard**

**A/N: Just so you know, Legolas will be in _no_ relationships. At all. _Ever_. That is not what this story is about, and it would ruin the character in my opinion. It would not go with his personality and characterization. So don't go looking for romance. There will never be any LegolasXOC, LegolasXCanonCharacter or LegolasXAnybody in this story. EVER! I don't like to write romance anyway. I'm more of an action-mystery-drama-suspense-adventure-fantasy writer. I pretty much write anything except romance, outright humor, horror, and parody.**

**Thank you for all of the wonderful reviews! :)**

**Responses to Guest reviews: (Including a couple I missed from the chapter before. Sorry!)**

**To "KP": Thank you for reviewing!**

**To "SilverNM": Thanks! Antics are fun! :P**

**To "Avionics jade": Thank you!**

**To "Badass female": Thank you for reviewing! Ironically, I just finished writing this chapter when you reviewed. Huh. No, I'm not doing romance with Legolas. At all. I'm just not a romance writer. I still go "ew" and make disgusted faces when I see someone kissing in a movie. My friends think my reactions are hilarious. :P**

**To "yue-chan": Thank you! I have writing talent? YAY! Its so nice of you to say that! :D Yeah, Saruman made a big mistake. The evil he is dealing with is a lot worse than he thought...**

**To "Emilz": Thank you! I only have internet Monday and Wednesday, and that is sporatic at best. I usually have the next chapter finished a couple hours after I posted the previous one, but I can't update until I have proper internet access. It sucks. :(**

**To "Laura": Thank you! I'm glad you liked it. :D**

**To "Issy": Thanks! Don't hit Thranduil! I need him to not be concussed... though I do agree that he deserves a good whack. :P**

**To "emi": Thank you for reviewing! That _was_ long. Cool! :D Ok... let me try to go in order... Next chapter Radagast should show up. It would be funny if Esgal fled to Erebor because everyone was staring at him! :P The teasing in front of the twins will happen soon. They will know soon. You saw what happened to Amulug. Next chapter you will see about the orcs. I'm not answering if he would tell or not. You'll have to wait to see what happens with that. The major AU begins when the countdown hits "the Present". The Present is actually not that far away. It is in four chapters. Like I said, the elves don't talk about it and don't give details. Their tight-lipped approach keeps people from knowing anything more than that the Lost Prince was "captured and died". Bilbo doesn't know about the Prince other than that. It would be funny if Thorin found out! (cackles) But that's not my plan. ;) Thranduil will know that Legolas is alive eventually. I will not put a riddle for when he reveals himself, sorry (It is too much of a spoiler). ;)**

**To "Guest": Thank you!**

**To "The Readers": Here is the update.**

**To "Wane": Thanks! **


	17. 16: The Spar

**A/N: I wrote this entire chapter today because I got an idea. I changed my plan and added a bunch of important stuff this chapter, so Radagast's return, the orcs coming to find Legolas, the dwarves' coming to Mirkwood, and a bunch of other stuff has been moved to next chapter. For those of you who asked, this means that Part II will begin in five chapters and "The Present/Today" will be in four. In other words, I added a completely new chapter. :)**

**LOTRLOTRLOTR**

**Chapter Sixteen: The "Spar"**

_Third Age 2956 (55 years ago...)_

Early the next day, Legolas found himself headed to Mirkwood's training grounds with Aragorn, Fael, and the twins. More specifically, he was unwillingly being dragged to said training grounds by four determined warriors.

"I told you, I don't want to train here." the elf protested uncomfortably for the third time. "I don't need to either."

"You don't have to train." Fael said stubbornly. "We're not even going there to train. You've been shown every part of the palace and grounds except for where the warriors train. We're just completing your tour. I don't see why you are so against going there."

_I don't want to go because if any warriors are there, they'll want to see me fight or spar with me,_ the assassin thought but did not say.

While he was glad that he had exposed himself to the elves and saved Thranduil's life, he wished that the warriors had not witnessed or heard about his prior accomplishments in battle. Almost every time he ran into one, they were sizing him up, questioning his abilities, or wanting to test themselves against him.

Legolas was only comfortable with sparring with Glorfindel because he knew the other elf would not become angry when he beat him. Many of the warriors that approached him were not asking to spar out of curiosity, but out of an arrogant need to prove themselves by besting the "Hidden Guardian". When Legolas defeated them, some would lash out in anger, or would remain bitter and cold.

The assassin did not want to draw attention to himself, and most definitely did not want to have arrogant elves holding a grudge against him. He knew he would defeat the elves that fought him. It was not overconfidence or arrogance that powered this thought, but fact. Ciaran had taught him how to fight and defeat his own kind swiftly, telling the much-younger Legolas the elves' weaknesses, and frequent spars with Glorfindel had kept those skills sharp.

When sparring, the assassin had a choice: to draw out the fight or to end it instantly. As an assassin, he was more inclined to end fights quickly unless he was mock-fighting with the Balrog Slayer. With Glorfindel, he used spars to learn. These warriors had no interest in teaching or learning.

So that left Legolas with a dilemma. Should he end the fight immediately, and make them angry that they were defeated so fast, or should he draw it out and make them mad that he was not fighting at his best. Then again, his best was killing so no matter what he had to hold back.

The violet-eyed elf could not find a way to explain this to his friends however, and reluctantly let himself be dragged to the training grounds. It was early morning, so many of the warriors would be present.

Mirkwood's training grounds consisted of a large clearing in the woods. There were specific areas for each kind of weapon and intent. One area was for archers, with targets hanging in the trees. Another was filled with dummies used for basic sword training. The final, open space was intended for sparring with an opponent.

Currently, a small bit of that space was occupied by Bereneth and a warrior that Legolas recognized as Lain, the reddish-brown haired warrior that had been injured during the flood so long ago. The two were in the leather armor of their realm, moving about the area that was their sparring ground as their swords clashed. Other warriors stood in a wide circle around them, intent on the fight between the Princess and the ellon.

"That looks interesting," Elladan said, silver eyes riveted on the spar. "Want to watch?"

The others nodded in assent and Legolas's group joined the spectators, staying towards the back but still able to see. The assassin's violet eyes followed the two warriors' movements carefully. As they watched, Bereneth blocked a stab directed towards her torso, stepping forward boldly and attacking Lain with a barrage of blows. Her feet were sturdy and firm on the ground, but she still had the fluent grace of the elves, able to shift from position to position quickly.

"Are the blades blunted?" Legolas asked Fael.

The silver-haired Prince shook his head. "No. After an elf is a warrior for five-hundred years, we fight with sharp weapons. Novices, rookies, and young warriors fight with blunted blades."

Legolas watched as Bereneth knocked Lain's defense away, touching the point of her sword to his chest. The warrior nodded, conceding defeat, and a cheer went up from the spectators as they congratulated their Princess. Bereneth accepted their praise with a smile, nodding her thanks as her eyes scanned the ring. Her brown eyes found the assassin in the crowd and he tensed.

"Esgal!" she called, tone light and cheery. "Would you like to spar?" Her smile was friendly but her eyes were suspicious and cold.

The assassin felt a mixture of annoyance, anger, and sadness. When he spoke his tone was calm and soft. "I would rather not, Princess. I don't usually fight in front of such a large group."

Bereneth laughed, a laugh that was both mocking and false. "There's no need to be shy, Esgal. I'm sure you'll be fine."

All eyes were on him, intense and glaring. The warriors were eager. They wanted to see him fight. They wanted to see how great of a warrior he was. Either that or they wanted Bereneth— their Princess warrior— to defeat him. Legolas's anger was building, but he hid it behind a polite mask.

"I am dangerous, Princess." he said softly. "I might hurt you." _...Because you are not one to take defeat kindly, especially from me. You will strike out, and I will be forced to retaliate. Please, do __**not**__ push me._

"I'm sure I don't have to worry about that." she said dismissively. "It's odd. You almost seem _afraid_ to fight me."

A few of the elves sneered at the insult to Esgal's bravery, muttering agreement. Next to the assassin, the twins were livid, Aragorn was glaring at the Princess, and Fael looked shocked. Bereneth had just called Legolas a coward. That was a terrible insult to any warrior.

Against the jeers, anger, and shock around him, Legolas was icy calm. Now they were trying to _pressure_ him into fighting. It was either spar or be labeled a coward. Protocol and politeness went out the window and the assassin let all emotion drain from his eyes and expression. He would not let Bereneth goad him into a fight.

"You show your desperation through your words, Princess," he said coolly. "I will not fight you because you have a need to prove yourself. I fight to protect, to kill, and to learn, not for meaningless entertainment."

He turned around and began to walk away, pushing through the crowd of elves.

_Walk away, Legolas,_ he told himself. _Walk away..._

The Princess bristled, and spoke with venom dripping from her every word. "I should have known that an elf raised by a cowardly human would be—"

"_What did you just call my father?_"

A chill went over the training grounds as the assassin spoke in voice more terrifying than a Nazgûl's shriek. It was a hiss that somehow lacked all emotion, so apathetic and cold that it seemed to hold no emotion. And yet there was no denying what Esgal was feeling. The assassin was beyond _angry_.

He turned to glare at Bereneth, who did not quail beneath his glowing violet eyes. The Princess smirked at him.

"I called him a worthless, miserable _coward_." she sneered.

Legolas closed his eyes, anger rushing through him. Slowly, painfully, he let it go, serene calm rushing in in its place. He must not fight out of anger. Anger was a terrible motive and reason. But he could not walk away. Not now that the Princess had insulted Ciaran. That left one option. The assassin stepped into the ring, staring expressionlessly at Bereneth. The Princess was still smirking. Legolas did not react with ire. He just stared at her.

"Very well, Princess. I will spar with you. But remember... you brought this upon yourself."

Bereneth scoffed and raised her weapon, raising an eyebrow at him. "Aren't you going to draw your knives."

"No." he said shortly.

She shrugged, uncaring. Lain began the countdown, standing at the edge of the ring. "Three... two... one... Begin!"

It happened too fast for even the quickest elves to follow.

Before Bereneth could even move she was down, sword skittering across the ground with Esgal standing over her. A single blow to the warrior's solar plexus had sent her to the ground, winded, stunned, and unable to comprehend what had happened. Legolas glared down at her, violet eyes blazing.

"If you had accepted my declination of the spar with grace, or asked me to be your opponent for reasons other than showing off to your friends, I would have gladly fought with you, warrior to warrior. Instead, you insulted my father— the _bravest_ man I have ever known— and tried to pressure me into sparring with you. Before the spar began you did not even bother to lay down rules. That allowed me to use all of my skills, including my knowledge of pressure points. I am an _assassin_. I am _dangerous_. And I am _way_ out of your league." There was no arrogance in the elf's voice, only deadly fact.

"Despite that, and despite me being the Hidden Guardian, I am _not_ a weapon! I am _not_ a way to test your skills! I am _not_ some experiment you need to poke and prod to see if I react! I am an elf, like you all, and I am sick and tired of idiotic _Delorcions _trying to bully, use, and abuse me! You do not care about who I am. You only care that I am an assassin and a weapon. You see me as an opponent to defeat and overcome. I don't care if you try to make yourselves great warriors, but don't you dare try to use me to make a name for yourself!"

He did not shout, but he may as well have. The elves and Bereneth— who had recovered— were all silent, guilt and shame warring on their faces. Legolas looked up, and his violet eyes were filled with bitter pain. The agony in the violet orbs was so great that the elves and Aragorn had to look away.

Then the assassin spoke, and his voice was choked and strained with emotion. "I _never_ should have revealed myself to you."

And he ran, vanishing into the trees.

"Esgal!" Aragorn shouted, starting after the assassin.

A hand on his arm stopped him and he looked up to see Glorfindel standing there, eyes dark and expression tense.

"How much did you see?" Elrohir asked quietly.

The Balrog Slayer's face turned even more somber. "Enough." Piercing blue eyes landed on Bereneth and the Vanyar glowered at the Princess. "Words cannot express how _disappointed_ and _disgusted_ I am with you. I will be talking to your father about this!"

Everyone flinched at his tone. Never, in all the years they had seen Glorfindel, had they ever seen him that angry with an elf. Orcs yes, but an elf? Never. His voice shook with barely-contained rage and his glow seemed to ripple and expand with his anger. He was not friendly, cheerful Glorfindel, but an Elf Lord who looked ready to strike them down.

"Glorfindel..." Elrohir began hesitantly.

"I'm going after him. Stay here." he said flatly.

The four that had come with Esgal flinched. The Balrog Slayer's expression softened slightly.

"I am not angry at you. You four are of the few people here who accept Esgal for who he is. I thank you for that."

Without another word the Balrog Slayer ran swiftly into the forest, leaving four worried friends and many ashamed elves behind him. The elves watched him go, before the warriors began to gather in small groups, murmuring softly to each other. Elrohir looked at his twin, Fael, and Aragorn— who was still staring worriedly into the trees.

"We should go back to the palace."

Fael and Elladan nodded in agreement but Aragorn did not respond. They headed down the path to the Elvenking's home, keeping their silence. Elladan finally broke it, his shift from quiet to speaking so fast that Fael flinched.

"I can't believe those idiots treated Esgal like that!" the older twin spat, fists clenched in rage.

Fael looked at the ground, eyes closed tightly. "I am ashamed of my comrades actions. No, _ashamed_ does not even begin to describe how I feel. I don't even want to associate with them... or my sister."

"Why would Bereneth act like that?" Elrohir questioned. "I know that she is strong-willed and fiery, but I've never seen her so cold, cruel, and... arrogant."

"She doesn't trust Esgal." Fael revealed bitterly. "And ever since... ever since Naneth died—" The Prince winced. "— she has been even less tactful and polite than usual."

"Sorry, Fael." Elladan said vehemently. "But I am not going to be forgiving her for a long while. What she did was beyond rude and uncalled for. How could she stoop so low?"

"She wanted to test herself against Esgal, obviously." the younger twin muttered. He paused, looking around, and a panicked expression appeared on his face. "Where's Estel?"

The other two elves halted in their tracks, turning around. The human was not there. Slowly, the three elves looked at each other, then at the forest.

"Ada is going to kill us." Elladan said flatly.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

Legolas sat in the tree that was above Ciaran's grave, leaning against the bark with glassy eyes. He was not crying but tears of frustration pricked at his eyes. Stupid bloody arrogant elves! Why couldn't they just leave him alone? That was what he got for revealing himself to so many strangers. Now that everyone in Mirkwood knew about him, they were _interested_ in him. The Councilors wanted to prod into his past and question him. The ellith wanted to flirt with and stalk him. And the warriors saw him as a challenge or a loose cannon, and wanted to best him in a fight.

Could they not see that he just wanted to be with his friends and be _normal_ for once? Could they not tell that he wanted to be treated just like any other elf? He did not want to be seen as an assassin or a weapon to be used at their disposal. He did not want to be an opponent for the warriors to try to defeat to test their skills against the legendary "Hidden Guardian".

He just wanted to be Legolas— or Esgal, if one was to b technical. He wanted to have friendly spars and play pranks with his friends. He wanted to sit beneath the stars without being bothered. He wanted to be free. Free of judging eyes, free of stone walls, free of protocol and niceties he did not like or understand.

Legolas looked down at his hands, rubbing his fingers against the smooth, pale, but not-glowing palms of his skin. Maybe if he let his glow out, they would accept him? The assassin scoffed and chided himself soon as the thought formed. Having stayed at the palace for only one day, and he was already considering changing himself to try to appease others. He would _never_ do that. He would never change who he was because someone thought he should or thought he was strange. His lack of a glow was a part of who Legolas was now, and idiotic elves who did not understand would not make him change that.

Besides, his suppressed glow was not just for helping him hide in shadows, talk to shadowed trees, and remain hidden from enemies that could sense elves. An elf's glow represented their inner light, and was an extension of their soul. It was a piece of themselves that they exposed to the world, showing their strength and Light. That was why Legolas would not let his glow out. Because while inner lights could provide hope and light, they also allowed a piece of the elf to be touched by the outside world, including being touched by Shadow. That was a reason that the elves were reacting badly to the ever-growing Darkness. That was why they were losing strength and fading. It was why they were being called across the sea, so they would not eventually fade away or succumb to the Shadow that was slowly eating away at their souls.

But the assassin knew it could not be helped. The other elves would never be able to suppress their glow like he could. They could dim it, but not make it vanish. Yet Legolas's glow was not "vanished" per say. It was not merely hidden. His inner light was now truly inside him. Specifically, it was around his heart, mind, and soul. Long ago, when he first came to Dol Guldur, Ciaran taught him to "suppress" his glow. In actuality, he taught Legolas how to take it and change it into an impenetrable shield. His inner light protected his heart, soul, and mind so they would never be touched by evil, darkness, or anything that wished to enter without his permission or with evil intent.

Instead of his light being shown, it was inside him, stronger than ever because it was untouched by the Darkness in the outside world. Because of this, Legolas would never quail beneath the presence of Darkness. Because of this, he would never fall to the heaviness of the Shadow alone. If all other lights in the world went out, and all other elves fell beneath the sickening Darkness, he would still be there a fighter for the Light. Unbreakable in spirit and mind, even if his body itself was broken, he would remain, because no Darkness would ever claim him.

He was Legolas, Esgal, Daelas, and Brian. He was the Hidden Guardian, Hoshvuras, and a deadly assassin. He had violet eyes, he did not glow, and he was _proud_ of it.

That did not mean that the warriors' words and actions did not hurt though.

Legolas sensed the person coming before he saw him and sighed, but did not run off through the trees. If he did, the stubborn Balrog Slayer coming towards him would just keep following him. A moment later, Glorfindel emerged below him, looking up at the assassin with worried blue eyes.

"Esgal?"

The violet-eyed elf did not speak or move. He idly wondered how Glorfindel had found him. The Light trees would converse with the Vanyar, but the shadowed trees would not. Maybe the golden-haired elf had followed the general sense of direction he had went to here. Legolas found that he did not care.

Glorfindel eyed the black bark in front of him but set his jaw, speaking determinedly. "I'm coming up."

He began to climb, and was surprised that the tree did not hiss or throw him off. The shadowed tree sensed that this too-bright elf would comfort Daelas— Daelas was sad—, so it let the elf up onto its branches. The too-bright elf's presence hurt, but Daelas needed comfort that the tree could not provide. Glorfindel settled down next to the silent elf, looking at him from the corner of his eye.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"What is there to talk about?" the assassin asked flatly. "Bereneth and the other warriors are acting like pushy children who are jealous of the new babe their parents brought home."

The Balrog Slayer's lips twitched at his description before he sobered. "They _are_ jealous of your skills, and feel like they need to prove themselves."

"Why can't they find another way to "prove themselves"?" Legolas demanded. "It insults me that they wish to spar with me with the purpose of trying to show that they are a better warrior than I am. Don't they understand how much I have trained and fought to get where I am? I've been trained to be an assassin since I was five! I don't just use my weapons to fight, I use my body and my knowledge of my opponent to take them out quickly, cleanly, and without a fuss. Why can't they see that I am a different type of fighter than them, and realize that they _can't_ beat me one-on-one with their skill set? I've fought thirty Berserker Orcs before and won! Not only that, but they see me as a weapon or a threat. Why can't they see I just want to be _free_?"

The assassin sounded plainly miserable, and Glorfindel's heart went out to the young elf. He reached over and hugged Legolas, who stiffened in his arms before relaxing.

"Those warriors are conceited idiots who cannot see the small things along with the big picture." He said quietly. "They see a legend and a strong warrior, not an elf that just wants some friends. Trust me, I know about this."

Legolas closed his eyes, recalling one of the Balrog Slayer's many tales about what it had been like when he first came back from the dead and was in Rivendell. Many of the elves had been in such awe of Glorfindel that they had not noticed that he did not want to be bothered by them and only wanted quiet and peace to mourn and adjust to the situation he found himself in.

Elrond and Erestor had greatly helped with the Balrog Slayer's recovery, being friends instead of admirers, and scolding and warding off those who wished to intrude on the Vanyar. Not only that, but a couple warriors wanted Glorfindel to start leading them and going out on patrols, _immediately_. They got a severe tongue-lashing from an enraged Elrond and were sent swiftly on their way. The memory of Glorfindel's booming laughter as he told Legolas of the event made the assassin smile, but his melancholy did not fade.

"At least they were not scared of you." he whispered.

"If they are, that is their problem." the Balrog Slayer said stubbornly. "And I don't think you will have to worry about them bothering you anymore. Aragorn will most likely punch the next person that looks at you wrong, Fael will give them an icy Prince-glare, and the twins will prank them in some humiliating and terrible way. That is not even including how livid Thranduil is going to be."

"I didn't mean to cause a rift in their family. I did not mean to become someone they all heard of. I did not want to be a spectacle for them to stare at." Legolas mumbled.

Glorfindel scowled and poked him in the forehead, making the assassin glare at him. "It is the Royal Family's decision to "choose a side" and it is not your fault that everyone seems to think that there needs to _be_ sides. They are the idiots who are making a big deal out of this. Eventually, they will learn to treat you like anyone else or leave you be. You're not a legend to be fawned over, you're a person who just wants acceptance. Just ignore them, and if you need to, I give you my full permission to knock out anyone who tries to bully or use you."

Legolas thought about this for a long while. Then he nodded, slow and hesitant, and a more genuine smile crossed his face. "Thank you Glorfindel. Even with the elves being nosy and... insensitive, I am glad that I showed myself to Estel, Elladan, Elrohir, and Fael. And Elrond, Erestor, and the Elvenking too. They do not judge me, and accept me readily. They also do not try to force me to be the Hidden Guardian when I only wish to be Esgal."

Glorfindel smiled back at him. "I'm serious about you knocking them out. Try punching them in the face. Or maybe the nose. It is always fun to break their nose."

The assassin stared at him, eyebrow raised. "Well aren't you a violent one. Are you speaking from experience?"

"...Maybe." the Vanyar said mischievously.

Legolas laughed, a musical, beautiful sound.

"Why are you laughing?" Glorfindel pouted. "I'm just teaching my little brother the important skills of life!"

The violet-eyed elf stopped mid-laugh, staring at him with wide eyes. "...What did you just call me?"

The Balrog Slayer turned pink and shifted nervously on the branch, freezing as the shadowed tree rustled in warning. "You heard me, Esgal."

"You see me as you little brother?" the elf asked dazedly, suddenly sounding very young.

Seeing his shocked confusion, Glorfindel spoke gently. "Yes, I do."

Legolas stared at him, struck mute and unsure of how to respond. Now that he thought about it, Glorfindel was like an older brother to him. He was a friend, confidant,and a strong presence he could rely on if the assassin needed to. That was what a sibling did, right? All Legolas knew was that he felt safe, secure, and happy whenever he was with the Vanyar. He felt like he could act his relatively young age and did not need to hide his emotions or put up a front. The Balrog Slayer could not be his father figure— Ciaran would hold that place in his heart if/until he remembered his birth family, and the assassin had seen too much of Glorfindel's playful side to call him that. Yes, the title of "brother" made sense.

"I see you as an older brother." Legolas admitted slowly. "I... would like to call you "Gwador"... if that's all right?"

Glorfindel's grin was so wide that the violet-eyed elf was sure that it would split his face in half. "Of course it is all right!" he exclaimed joyfully.

Legolas perked up, expression brightening. He hugged Glorfindel tightly, mumbling into his shoulder. "Thank you... You don't know what this means to me."

The Balrog Slayer chuckled softly. "I think I might have a vague idea."

The younger elf nodded against his shoulder, both happy and overwhelmed. Long ago he had never expected acceptance from an Elf Lord like Glorfindel, but now here he was, with said Lord as a brother-of-the-heart. The shadowed trees around the two elves could not understand most of the conversation between the two, but they saw how much Daelas cared for the too-bright golden-haired glowing elf, and how the elf made Daelas smile.

Daelas cared for the too-bright elf, more than the trees had ever seen him care for any elf their Shadowleaf had rescued. The too-bright-Glorfindel elf was precious to Daelas. Pained but determined, the shadowed trees embedded too-bright-Glorfindel into their memories, passing on his image to their kin.

_Do not harm too-bright-Glorfindel,_ they told each other, intent on remembering this important fact. _He is close to Daelas. Daelas's... gwadir. Gawdor.__** Gwador.**__ Gwador. Gwador._ The Sindarin word hurt their voices but still they spoke it, passing on the message.

Legolas heard them speaking and looked up, smiling slightly. _Gwador_. He told them. _Brother_.

They rustled and waved but did not hiss. Glorfindel was Daelas's heart-brother. They would not hurt him. They would keep him safe for Daelas. The Balrog Slayer frowned deeply, closing his eyes and straining his ears as he tried to discern something from the trees' dark voices. He blinked twice, listening harder, then turned to Legolas.

"Did they just say "Gwador"?"

"Yes." Legolas murmured. "They will not hurt you now, and they will help you if you are in trouble. They do not care about friends of mine, but you are now a brother-of-my-heart. I already lost my heart-father. They... they don't want me to lose anyone else."

Glorfindel was quiet. His glow dimmed to a soft sheen— the most that any elf other than the assassin could lower their inner light— and he reached up, touching a black leaf on the tree. The tree trembled slightly but did not lash out, only a small spark of pain going through it before it faded. Too-bright-Glorfindel was warm, it realized. His hands were warm, like Daelas's hands. Warm but not painful, like the other elves touch.

"Even in greatest Darkness, there is still hope and light," Glorfindel murmured, watching as a black branch slowly and gently wrapped around his hand.

"Yes." Legolas murmured. "Almost everything has good within it. The only things that I have heard of or come across that hold no Good are orcs, goblins, wargs, the Nazgûl, the Dark Lords, and demons. They have fully given themselves to Darkness and the Shadow, in such a way that they are a slave to it. These trees..." The tree they sat in touched his shoulder with its branch. "Did not choose to become like this. Even now, they still fight and rebel against evil, choosing to side with me rather than the Darkness. Their free will is only hindered, not completely gone."

The assassin sighed deeply and looked up, where the sky was covered with grey clouds. The Balrog Slayer looked up as well and smiled, pointing at a cloud.

"That one looks like a rabbit."

Legolas was startled into laughing before he too pointed. "And that one looks like a giant hand."

"That one is a dog."

"A dog? It looks more like a squashed toad."

"It does not. It is a dog."

"Is not."

"Is too."

"Is _not_."

Glorfindel snorted and shook his head. "Five minutes into it and we're already acting like brothers." His expression turned solemn and he looked directly at Legolas. "Do you want to stay here for a bit or go back?"

The assassin thought about it then leapt down from his perch, landing lightly on his feet. "I will have to face them all eventually so I might as well make it now."

Glorfindel landed beside him and straightened. "Good. The longer you stay out here, the more time they'll have to gossip."

Legolas scoffed. "That is _another_ part of society that I'm glad to have not been exposed—"

He stopped, head whipping to the left. Glorfindel's sword was out of its sheath in an instant.

"Where and how many?" he asked calmly.

"There are at least fifty orcs a league away," the assassin said rapidly. "They've just captured two people. A dwarf and a—" Legolas paled and turned to Glorfindel, eyes wide with fear. "It is Estel! The orcs have him!"

LOTRLOTRLOTR

**A/N: _Cliffhanger, hanging from a cliiiiiiiffffff!_ (whistles innocently) :D**

**I finally went into a little more detail on why Legolas keeps his glow suppressed. Sorry if I didn't explain it fully to those who asked, but I wanted to keep the lack-of-glow's full purpose secret for this chapter. :) By keeping his glow suppressed/inside him, he keeps it from being tainted, strengthening it, along with using it as to shield his heart, mind, and soul from anything that tries to touch or harm them.**

**A special thank you to Moonlight900 for being the 300th reviewer! :D :D :D I sincerely thank you all for the amazing, awesome, wonderful, inspiring, marvelous, epic, loving reviews! I'm so happy all of you are loving this story! :D**

**Responses to Guest reviews:**

**To "Lucy": Thank you. Don't cry! o_O**

**To "Guest"(1): Thanks!**

**To "Guest"(2): Thank you! There will be two more big enemies other than Aglar. One is a man, who you will meet soon. (Hint/Spoiler: He's related to Drust). The other is the Darkness that wants to be freed... ;) Sorry, Legolas won't remember for a while.**

**To "Guest" (3): Thank you! Amulug is going to be a BIG problem in part II. It is nice that so many people are happy that I am not writing romance. :)**

**To "TiTaN": Thanks! Legolas doesn't glow because of trust issues, because it is second nature to him, and because he has almost forgotten that he _can_ glow. Suppressing his inner light is as instinctive to him as breathing. He doesn't even think about it. Plus you saw the explaination this chapter.**

**To "FalenOfTheForest": Thank you for reviewing! I hate parties too. :(**

**To "Badass Female": Thank you for reviewing! What is Resident Evil? The name sounds familiar... Is it a movie? (confused expression) Maybe once I... see(?) it I will consider writing a crossover, but that definitely won't happen until All That Remains is finished. :) **

**To "emi": Thank you! Yup, Drust's descendant is going to show up as another major antagonist. Both will be working under the Darkness's command. (tries to imagine Legolas in a council meeting) Do you WANT the Councilors to die?! (sniggers) The twins fear the revelation of Aragorn's name because Mirkwood is so Shadowed, and the enemy could have spies nearby. The Witch-King and Saruman are not _sure_ that Estel is Isildur's Heir, and if word that Aragorn lived reached their ears, the Ranger would be put in great danger. The name "Aragorn, Son of Arathorn" is not a safe one to speak yet. The elves want to keep Aragorn as "Estel" for as long as possible. Then again, that plan went out the window because Amulug is going to the Darkness... I accidentally had Legolas call Aragorn by that name a couple times. That is my mistake and I have to fix it. It is confusing because I was writing a far-future chapter where Legolas can call Aragorn "Aragorn", then was writing that one where he can't. Ugh. :P I meant what I said about Thranduil knowing. He will know his youngest son lives... but he might not know that he is Esgal, like you guessed. He finds out in the event that links Parts One and Two. **

**To "Devil Red": Thank you for reviewing! Oddly enough, I picture him in an Assassin's Creed outfit from time to time too. :P Ciaran is pronounced "Keer-on". Ciaran and his family (plus their descendants) were like Aragorn, and aged slower than other humans. He was about "seventy" years old when Legolas was captured, and about "one hundred fifty" when he died. Physically, he looked maybe thirty-five, forty when Legolas was captured, and a healthy fifty to sixty years old when he died.**

**To "Guest) (4): Thanks! Stupid laptop... It keeps exchanging the words! Seriously, I opened one of my school assignments and it was talking about history one minute, and about my future career choices the next! :(**

**Please review! :D**


	18. 17: An Elf, a Man, & a Dwarf

**A/N: Many more hints at the AU towards the end of this... ;)**

**LOTRLOTRLOTR**

**Chapter Seventeen: An Elf, a Man, and a Dwarf**

_Third Age 2956 (55 years ago...)_

"Angry" was not the proper word to describe the expression on Thranduil's face. "Enraged" did not even come close to revealing the emotion in the Elvenking's aura. "Livid" was not enough to tell how furious the Sindar was feeling.

The Elvenking was a caged, man-eating tiger as he paced— _prowled_— in front of his daughter, back and forth across her line of vision. His robes billowed about him as he moved and his glow— usually kept under wraps and dimmed— blazed and rippled with fury. His blue eyes seemed to glow in the candlelight, the emotion within them chilling Bereneth to the bone.

He was the very image of an Elf Lord in all his glory, omnipotent, beautiful, larger than life, and absolutely cold. Bereneth's father looked so powerful and otherworldly in his anger that if she did not know any better, the Princess would swear that one of the Valar had come to Middle-earth to place judgment upon her.

Back and forth the Elvenking stalked in his study, none around to witness the Princess's punishment. The advisers and Elrond had been cast out of — more like fled— the room the moment Elladan had reported what had transpired between Esgal and the warriors. Bereneth was sure that her father's rage would be enough to terrify Sauron if the Dark Lord came upon the Elvenking now.

Thranduil halted in his pacing, back to her. Even though he was not facing her, the golden-haired elleth knew her father was glaring at the wall. Still, the Sindar did not speak. Bereneth also remained quiet, afraid to break the silence between them. She just wanted her father to talk, to say something so they could get this lecture over with. But the Elvenking did not utter a word, and would not look at her. The silence stretched on, and Bereneth dare not break it.

Finally, Thranduil spoke. "Princess Bereneth of the Royal Family of Mirkwood... your arrogance _astounds_ me." His voice was calm— far too calm and cold— and the elleth knew that the dam had not yet broken.

She swallowed reflexively and broke her silence. "Adar—"

With that single word, the dam holding the Elvenking's rage shattered. He spun to face her, blazing and powerful.

"WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?!" the Sindar shouted. "I raised you to be a proper royal and a honorable warrior, and yet you do _this_! You act like an orc, and insult and provoke a guest!"

When her father compared her to an orc, Bereneth's own temper flared. "A _guest_? Esgal is a freak!"

Thranduil's mouth moved wordlessly before his entire presence seemed to darken. "A _freak_, you say? How so?" His voice was scathing, cold, and snarling, but the Princess responded anyway.

"He doesn't glow. He can hide in plain sight. He can speak to the shadowed trees. He has abilities that are unnatural and Dark." she snapped. "He is an assassin, and a dangerous—"

"Funny." the Elvenking interrupted in an icy, low voice that did not belay humor at all. "Your argument sounds just like Aglar's. But he did not antagonize and offend a person we welcomed into our home." He glared at her, daring her to speak. "You have only made yourself _lower_ in my eyes with your words. You try to hide behind prejudice, using it as an excuse, but I know that is not the main reason you wanted to "spar" with Esgal. You wanted to flaunt your skills and abilities in front of your warriors. You wanted to prove that you were better than some "_freakish_" Wood-elf."

His voice shook with fury, and his hands clenched at his sides, the nails biting into his palms. "You and so many of the warriors only see Esgal as a weapon and an outsider. Not to be trusted, not to be kind to, only to be used to show that you are better than him. After all, you are _proud_ warriors of Mirkwood, and he is only a _homeless_ assassin." The Elvenking's voice dripped sarcasm and wrath like a crack in a volcano dripped lava.

Thranduil looked straight into her eyes, face changing into an apathetic mask, and spoke in a tone that held no inflection. "You _disgust_ me. Not only have you thrown away all sense of duty and honor, but you were childishly rude and insensitive to the elf that has been aiding in our fight against the Shadow and_ saved my life_. If Esgal wasn't a "freak", if he did not have the skills and connections that he did, if he did not care enough about this world to _come out of the shadows_ to save me, I would be _dead_. I would have died long ago. I have spoken with Glorfindel. He told me how much Esgal feared revealing himself to the elves. At first, he feared rejection because of his lack of glow. Then he feared people acting like prejudiced fools, and that they would try to use or contain him. Congratulations, Bereneth, you _proved him right_."

"Have you bothered to think about what Esgal has done for us? You have seen the reports of dead orcs and Spiders over the years. You know he drove out the large Spider colony that had been taking our warriors. He is the Hidden Guardian. He protected us from the Shadows and aided us without being asked. He saved Lord Elrohir, and— according to Lord Glorfindel— helped to solidify the alliance between the dwarves and elves. And so you thanked Esgal for all he has done... by bullying him, antagonizing him, and acting like an arrogant _brat_." Thranduil spat.

He looked into her eyes, and his blue orbs closed. "And you don't even care. You don't care how much you have hurt him. You would never insult or be cruel to a fellow warrior in such a way, but because Esgal does not glow, because he is dangerous, because he is secretive, because he is a better fighter than you are—" Despite herself Bereneth flinched. "—You felt the need to show your dominance and _superiority_. You have brought shame upon yourself, the warriors, and this family!"

The final sentence was a growl, not a shout but might as well have been. Bereneth inwardly cringed at her father's tone.

"I'm sorry." the Princess said stiffly.

His blue eyes were stern and hard. "No you are not. You are not sorry that you harassed and bullied a guest. You are sorry that you got caught and were humiliated." He straightened, and he was no longer the angry parent, but the livid, cold Elvenking. He was unsympathetic, aloof, and hard. They were no longer father and daughter, but King and shamed Captain. "Due to your level of immaturity and aggression, I hereby strip you of your title of Captain, and forbid you from joining in patrols for the next twenty summers." Thranduil gave her punishment in a flat, apathetic voice, but his eyes still burned like flaring blue torches.

Bereneth gaped in shock. "Adar, you cannot be serious!"

Thranduil's expression was cold. "I _am_ serious, my daughter. You have become arrogant and violent, and I do not like it. You need a break from war and fighting, and need to learn humility. No patrols. No orc or Spider hunts. You ay train if you wish but if I hear that you have broken my trust and rebelled against me, I will punish you as severely as any of my warriors."

The demoted Princess resisted the urge to gulp nervously. She knew as well as anyone what happened to warriors who disobeyed the Elvenking. The punishment ranged from the absolute stripping of their warrior title to imprisonment for a number of years. That was unless their disobedience was treasonous. Treason meant exile from every Elven realm, like what had happened with Amulug.

Swallowing her pride and anger, Bereneth bowed lowly, and spoke in a bitter voice. "Yes, my Lord."

"You are dismissed." the Elvenking said flatly.

The Princess spun on her heel and left, angry more than upset. Thranduil watched his daughter go and sighed, reaching up and rubbing his temples. He knew that Bereneth had a fiery spirit, but her arrogance could not be tolerated. The confrontation with Esgal had not been the first time the elleth had acted like this. The Elvenking did not know what to do. Bereneth could not see how aloof she was acting.

Thranduil had been informed about the Shadows in some elves, and feared that his daughter was becoming afflicted with such a condition. He did not know which scenario he feared more, the one where she was indeed poisoned in her soul by Darkness, or that her anger, antagonism, and arrogance were her own. Either way, he intended to keep the Princess in the still-Light part of Mirkwood, away from the Shadow's touch until he could figure out a way to make her see that her actions were wrong.

A rapid knock on the door made the Elvenking look up. Tollui was standing in the doorway, worry etched on his features. Alarmed, Thranduil rose to his feet.

"What is wrong?"

"My Lord," the adviser said in a rush. "The dwarves from Erebor are here. They were attacked on the way here by Spiders."

"Are they all right?" Thranduil asked, very glad that Elrond was in Mirkwood.

"Yes." Tollui responded, still looking frazzled. "But one of their number was separated from them in the skirmish. They found the Spiders' bodies but there was no sign of him. They think he wandered off and got lost in the woods."

The Elvenking's visage darkened. Everyone knew how dangerous Mirkwood was, even in the day. He strode out the door, towards the throne room with his friend at his side. "We'll send out patrols immediately to find him. Which one is missing?"

"The youngest one in their group. He is only about ten years younger than Fili, but he has never been to this realm before." Tollui responded. "His name is Gimli."

LOTRLOTRLOTR

Gimli, son of Gloin, was your average type of dwarf. Neither too tall nor too short, not too fat or too thin, he had auburn hair and a proud beard of the same shade of reddish-brown. He was a warrior whose chosen weapon was the axe, and held a wide expanse of knowledge on caves, mines, gems, and other things to do with stone and craftsmanship. About half of a hour ago, he and his dwarf party had arrived in Mirkwood. The group had included Kili, Fili, Balin, four negotiators, and— of course— Gimli.

Gimli was the youngest in the party, though not by much, and he was long past his majority. However, he had never encountered or dealt with the elves before, and his father and King Thorin had agreed that it was far past time that Gimli learned a little bit about their immortal allies and their culture.

His father was still slightly hesitant about sending his son to the place where he had been imprisoned years ago, but the stubborn dwarf had put his trust in Kili and Fili to keep Gimli out of trouble— blatantly disregarding the fact that the auburn-haired dwarf was usually the one to pull the mischievous brothers out of danger. While older and able to act mature at times, the royal brothers still had a knack for mischief a mile wide.

So Gimli had joined the diplomatic party merely to observe and learn about elven culture, something which he was not too thrilled about. He would rather be in the caves and halls of the Lonely Mountain than amidst the trees with flighty elves.

Not all of Gloin's wariness of elves had faded— the mysterious elf Esgal, who Gimli had never met, being the noteworthy exception— and some of his habits and thoughts had been passed down to his son. A half hour ago, all the party could do was hope that Gimli did not say or do anything that made Thranduil throw them in prison again.

Worrying about being polite to the elves and elven dungeons was now the least of the auburn-haired dwarf's problems. One irritating situation and bad stroke of luck had been swiftly followed by another after the party had entered the forest.

First of all, Gimli was on his way to meet elves. The dwarf was not sure how he felt about elves, Gloin's stories and the whispered warnings he heard around Erebor being the most prominent things in his mind. He had a feeling that many of the elves would be aloof or act superior because of his race or age. If so, this trip was not going to be enjoyable at all. And so, as the group had gone deeper into the woods, Gimli's melancholy had increased.

Gimli's second issue had been that he was in a forest. The auburn-haired dwarf was perfectly all right with most forests— though he preferred caves— but Mirkwood was plain old _creepy_. He was not one to pay attention to trees, but there was a definitive _wrongness_ to the living woods around him, a heaviness and gloom that had nothing to do with the lack of light beneath the boughs.

Of course, while they were _walking under_ the dark trees, Kili and Fili had informed him— quite serious for once— that the trees around the dwarves could actually _kill_ them if they wished. That did not make Gimli feel any better about the woods.

"Don't worry, Gimli." Kili had told the younger dwarf. "Luckily for all who travel in this realm, Esgal is able to keep the trees from trying to kill us for their own amusement. Be glad that they only try to make us afraid."

Gimli had spent the next few minutes mulling this over. He did not know much about the mysterious assassin-elf that the dwarves who had taken part in the quest to reclaim Erebor had befriended, and had never met him. It was not like Gloin would/could invite Esgal over for dinner. From the bits and pieces that Gimli had gathered, the elf was violet-eyed, an assassin, a great warrior and fighter, did not glow, was known to be shy and wary around strangers, and had saved the Line of Durin in the Battle of the Five Armies. He knew that his father tolerated and even liked the elf, which told Gimli that Esgal could not be _too_ prissy... Maybe he would be able to tolerate _one_ elf on this trip. If the assassin was even in Mirkwood at all.

When Gimli had mentioned seeking out the assassin, Kili had laughed and said. "One does not find _him_. _He_ finds _you_."

Not long after that, the group had run into an ambush set by Spiders. The following skirmish with the monsters had resulted with Gimli being separated from the others, losing his way in the shadowy forest. So of course— to just make his bad and irritating day worse— Gimli had run into what had to be the largest group of orcs in the realm. He had managed to take down seven of them before he was captured, and tied to their other prisoner. A human with dark hair.

And so here Gimli son of Gloin was, captured by orcs and tied to an unconscious man, glowering at the monsters around him and angry that they had taken all of his axes. He could see his weapons piled with the man's sword and dagger, black orc blood still covering all of the blades. Apparently the man had fought too before being captured. Once he awoke, they would have to come up with a plan to escape. Gimli was a confident dwarf and a great warrior, but even he admitted that he would not win against fifty orcs.

The orc captain— an ugly brute with a jagged scar across his forehead— strutted over to the two prisoners. He grabbed the man's hair and pulled his head up, scoffing when the human did not react. He said something in the harsh Black Speech before drawing his hand back and slapping the man across the face. The human woke with a gasp, and Gimli could turn just enough in his bonds to see the man's silver eyes slip open, widening before narrowing with loathing as he spotter his captor.

"It's 'bout time ya woke up," the orc sneered at him in gravelly Westron.

The man did not speak. Gimli too kept his silence, though he shifted and moved, eyes scanning the area around them.

"I don't like games, so let's jus' get to the point." the orc growled. "Where is the Hidden One?"

The dwarf blinked in confusion, but he felt the human stiffen the tiniest bit behind him.

"The what?" Gimli asked, getting the orcs to focus on him rather than the man.

"Where is the one who can hide from our Master's sight?" the monster snarled.

Gimli had no idea what he was talking about, but again the man shifted slightly. So the human was aware of whom they were speaking of.

"Who is your Master?" the man asked instead.

The orc slapped him. "I'm the one asking the questions! You were with the elves before you went into the woods, human. I know you know who the Hidden One is!"

"I don't know what you are talking about." the man protested, obvious confusion in his voice. But Gimli could feel the man's heart pounding, and knew that was a lie.

"You lie." the orc captain snarled.

He unsheathed his sword, leveling it at Gimli's face. The dwarf leaned back slightly, nose only an inch from the blade.

"You will respond truthfully, or I'll start carving up the stunted one." the monster threatened. "Who and where is the Hidden One?"

"Don't tell them _anything_, laddie." Gimli warned. He did not know what was going on, but he knew that the orcs did not want the location of this "Hidden One" for platonic reasons. Besides, once they got the information they needed, the dwarf and man would be killed.

The orc bared his yellowed teeth in the auburn-haired dwarf's face, but his eyes were on the man. "Last chance. Where is the Hidden One?"

"Right here." a musical, lilting voice said from behind the captain.

Gimli blinked and suddenly the orc's head was detached from his body, black blood spraying over the dwarf's face. The body fell, revealing a cloaked elf. His hood was down, revealing pale blonde hair and pointed ears, but that was not the feature Gimli spotted first. The elf's eyes were violet. Recognition was instantaneous, and despite the fact that he had just been saved by an elf and was still tied up, the dwarf smiled.

"_One does not find **him**. **He** finds **you**."_

And that was how Gimli, the only son and child of Gloin, met Esgal.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

Legolas raced through the treetops, Glorfindel swiftly falling behind as the assassin almost flew through the familiar route in the trees. He could sense Estel, the dwarf, and the orcs ahead. There was a relatively small group with the prisoners, but a much larger group headed towards them. The other orcs were far away however, and the violet-eyed elf knew that he could reach Estel before they arrived.

Worry and annoyance rippled through the elf's body, his gut tightening and his expression twisting in irritation. How did the orcs get so deep into Mirkwood without anyone noticing? Surely the patrols Thranduil set out would have run into them. Legolas grimaced. The orcs were a large force, and any patrol that did find them would have been slaughtered. With that in mind, the elf hoped no one had run into the orcs. Or, if they had, they had remained hidden and gone to warn the Elvenking and gain reinforcements.

The assassin came upon the scene as the orc captain threatened the dwarf prisoner. Legolas's eyes flicked over Aragorn, searching for injuries and finding none other than a bump on his head, before he studied the dwarf. He recognized him, though they had never officially met.

He was Gimli, Gloin's son. The elf had spotted the dwarf a few times when he visited Erebor, but had never approached him. Gimli had always been with many other dwarves, and it was not in the assassin's nature to go out and say hello to people when there were many others with them. The elven warriors' reactions to him was a perfect example as to why he was cautious.

"...Last chance." the orc captain snarled, sword held threateningly close to Gimli. "Where is the Hidden One?"

Legolas could see Aragorn's indecision from his perch in the tree. He too could guess who the orc was referring to: him. Hidden One. Hidden Guardian. It was not that hard to figure out. Why the orcs thought the man knew, the elf had no idea, but now was not the time for musing. Without a second thought, the assassin dropped into the orc camp, behind the captain.

"Right here." he stated, and cut off the monster's head.

The body fell, revealing Gimli's shocked expression. Recognition flickered in the dwarf's eyes and he grinned. Then one of the orcs screamed.

"Get 'im!"

They came at the elf, a force that would normally make a single fighter flee, but the assassin only let a blank mask cover his features. The orcs ignored the man and dwarf, focusing on the threat in their midst. He was the Hidden One, the one they had been sent to kill. He was their target.

Legolas turned his knives outward, lifting and straightening his arms in a single swift movement and stabbing the two orcs at his sides. He turned slashing across the throat of another orcs as he spun, ducking a strike and circling around the orc, his knife sinking into the creature's back. His arms swung inwards, both blades cutting deeply into an orc's chest, shifted his hold and brought the blade down and back, into the stomach of the orc trying to sneak up behind him.

The assassin kicked another orc in the chest so hard it's sternum shattered. He stabbed the downed orc before lifting it off the ground and throwing it into its allies. In a nanosecond he sheathed his daggers, letting throwing knives fall into his palms and throwing them at the fallen orcs. Each knife hit its mark.

His elven daggers were unsheathed as another orc swung at his neck. He dropped to the ground, spinning with his leg kicking out, making another two orcs fall to the ground in a heap. Two quick downward strikes ended them, and Legolas rose to his feet once more.

The assassin sensed the orc behind him, thirty yards away and moved, leaning out of the way of the arrow the archer had sent at him. He turned and unsheathed his bow, shooting once. The orc, unlike the elf, did not have honed reflexes and took the arrow in the forehead. He hit another of the monsters in the gut with his sturdy bow, a pained gasp escaping from the creature. Quick as a blink he stabbed an arrow into the orc's eye, pulling it out and shooting it at the other archer.

The long distance threats neutralized, Legolas brought out his knives once more. Steps light and quick he danced out of the path of the orc's swinging sword, twisting and slashing across the back of the beast's neck. Two orcs ran at him from both sides, yelling, and he watched them come. They swung at him and he merely stepped back, the two impaling each other on their blades.

"Oi!" a gruff voice yelped.

The call did not distract him, and without even looking he threw his knife at the orc threatening Aragorn and Gimli. He let a throwing knife fall into his hand, turned, and threw it. Gimli gave a surprised yell as the knife flew at him, slicing through the rope holding him and the man together. The two stared dumbly as the ropes fell limply around them. Then Gimli growled and retrieved his axes.

"It's about time!"

As he spoke, an orc lunged forward, grabbing the elf's hair in a firm grip, only to give a scream and let go, rivulets of blood dripping down its fingers. The assassin turned his knives so they were facing upward, stabbing the orc in the jaw, up into its brain. Then elf, man, and dwarf paused, all looking around the now silent clearing. Gimli scowled and glared at the assassin.

"You could have left us a few!"

Aragorn, meanwhile, was counting the dead enemies. "...Nineteen. Twenty. Twenty-one! You just killed twenty-one orcs!"

Legolas nodded. "Yes."

"_Twenty-one._" the man stressed.

"I can count."

"By _yourself_."

"So? I've slain more."

There it was again, the open confusion. Legolas was used to fighting large scores of enemies on his own. This was nothing special or amazing... right? The Ranger's expression said otherwise.

Aragorn sighed and shook his head, giving up. "Next time, free us _before_ you fight. We can help."

The assassin smiled nervously. "All right. It's just... I am not used to fighting alongside others." He paused, turning to the left. "Though I do believe it is time that I learn. There is another wave coming."

Gimli was broken from his irritation that he had not been able to kill any orcs by his words. The dwarf looked at him incredulously. "How do you—?"

"How many?" Aragorn interrupted.

"At least forty." the assassin said calmly. "I am Esgal, by the way Master Gimli. It is a pleasure to meet you at last."

"Likewise," the dwarf admitted, looking into the trees eagerly as he waited for the orcs to come. "You are as great of a warrior as my father claimed."

"You know the dwarves and yet you did not reveal yourself to me or the elves?" Aragorn demanded. Then he brushed his annoyance aside, drawing his sword. "I wish we had met under different circumstances, Gimli. I am Estel, adoptive son of Lord Elrond."

Surprise flitted across Gimli's features before they returned to a determined mask. "Great. How far away are the orcs, Esgal?"

"Two hundred meters and closing fast," Legolas said, voice strained.

He looked at his two companions, and fear settled in his heart. He had never fought alongside allies in a battle like this. The only time he had ever been close was the Battle of the Five Armies. It did not count, however, because when he had been with Thorin, Fili, and Kili, he had been forced to adapt his fighting style to that more like a warriors. In that battle, he had consciously stayed still and with his companions, not moving away. But now his assassin mentality was burning through him like a fire in his veins, and he knew that he would be fighting like one within this battle.

He would dodge and aim to kill. He would strike faster than a snake, with no concern for all around him. He had two focuses when he was in this mentality: killing and survival. Which lead him to a fear he did not know he had: What if he accidentally caused harm to his allies? What if, by dodging, the enemy's blade hit the man or dwarf instead? What if, instead of striking an opponent he accidentally hit Aragorn of Gimli?

Aragorn noticed his expression. He recalled the way that the elf fought and dodged, and how he said he was not used to fighting with allies at his side. "Esgal, how about you cover us with that bow of yours." the man said. "We'll take care of any enemies you miss."

The elf felt relief wash through him like a warm wave. He would not have to fight alongside them at first. He quickly retrieved his arrows and shot up a tree, peering down at the man and dwarf. "I only have twenty-five arrows."

Gimli huffed, hefting his axe. "You won't be needing all of them, Elf. You've killed twenty-one orcs, now I have to catch up!"

The elf laughed, the joyful, heart-lifting chuckle of his race. "We shall see, Master Dwarf."

He could see the orcs in the forest and put four arrows to his bow, drawing back. The weapons went soaring, each striking an orc in the head or throat. They went down and the other orcs roared, shrieking like animals as they ran at the three warriors.

Aragorn stabbed one in the chest, sword sweeping sideways to sever another's head from its body. Beside him, Gimli struck an orc in the knees, forcing it down before killing it with a hard downward swing of his axe. Legolas shot the orcs that tried to crowd his allies, taking out any that tried to sneak up on them.

The Ranger spun his sword in his hand, slicing an orc vertically up its torso, and blocked the sword of another, forcing the blade aside and slicing off its arm. A quick downward thrust ended its screaming. He turned, catching an orc across it's stomach, and blocked a downward swipe, circling his blade around and plunging it into the orc's torso, right below its collar bone. A diagonal swing slashed open an orc from its shoulder to its hip.

Gimli struck an orc in its lower back, another in the stomach, and a third in the chest. His axe moved with deadly precision, each slash and strike hitting its target. He turned, swinging his weapon horizontally, and cutting into yet another enemy. Noting an orc twenty feet away, the dwarf unsheathed his throwing axe, and tossed it. It flew through the air, circling vertically, and slammed into the orc's forehead, bringing the creature down.

The orcs fell quickly to Gimli's axe, Aragorn's sword, and Legolas's arrows, and soon only five remained. Legolas put an arrow to his bow, sighting, and paused as three new presences entered his awareness.

An instant later, a blaze of white light blinded the remaining orcs, their pained screams ripping through the clearing. Legolas's allies yelped in surprise at the sudden magic, but the elf was calm. He blinked rapidly, eyes adjusting, and shot the remaining orcs with practiced ease. Then he searched for the source of the light.

Standing there, staff raised and a determined expression on his face, was Radagast. On his left was Glorfindel, who looked stunned by the Brown Wizards display of power, and on his right was a gray-cloaked man who wore a hat similar to Radagast's. Legolas identified him instantly. Gandalf the Gray.

"We could have taken them." Gimli grumbled, glaring at the Wizards.

Legolas ignored him, leaping from his tree and landing on the ground. He did not speak to Mithrandir for a moment, focusing on his Istar friend. "Thank you, Radagast."

The Brown Wizard looked pleased with himself. "Glorfindel ran into us on the way here and told us what had happened. I'm afraid that's why we took so long to arrive. We aren't as fast as you are when you run through the trees." He glanced at Gandalf and walked forward, standing beside Legolas. "Gandalf, this is Esgal. He's an old friend of mine, and he's the one who convinced me to help more in the fight against the Shadow."

Gandalf's eyebrows rose. "Really?" He studied the violet-eyed elf intently. "I'm guessing that you are the Hidden Guardian then?"

Legolas glanced at Aragorn, who blushed. "The name fit, all right?"

"Yes he is the Guardian," Radagast informed his peer. "He is also the one who made me care about more than the animals in this forest. He helped me see that the elves within it were worth fighting for as well."

Gandalf blinked and looked at Legolas with gratitude in his wise eyes. He smiled warmly at the young elf. "Well then. I must thank you, Esgal, for aiding Radagast in finding his conviction."

Words could not describe how grateful the Gray Wizard was. Without Esgal, the Brown Wizard would have remained the bumbling, uninvolved Istar he had been. His eccentric personality had not changed, but there was a fire in his eyes and a determination within him that had not existed a few hundred years ago. The elf seemed to understand the gratitude Mithrandir felt, and only smiled and nodded once in acknowledgment.

Meanwhile, Gimli was walking about the battlefield, making sure their enemies were indeed dead. He paused next to the last orc the assassin had killed in the first skirmish.

"Esgal! Why did that one orc start bleeding when it grabbed your hair?" the auburn-haired dwarf wanted to know.

Legolas smiled at him and gently picked up one of his braids by the end, unwinding it and revealing a thin string-like piece of metal lined with spikes. He quickly rewound the braid once more, hiding the sharp metal from view.

"Recently during a battle, an orc got close enough to me to grab my hair. It was not a pleasant experience and I had no desire to have a repeat of it so I went to the smithy and asked him to create these spikes. They are small enough not to be noticed but sharp enough to cut a person who tries to pull my hair and make them release me. My braids are also positioned in a way so that most of the time an enemy will grab one of them, and if I turn abruptly the spikes won't strike me in the face."

The assassin thought about all of the warrior-elves he knew with long hair. If they were not wearing a helm, pulling their hair would be easy for an enemy if they got behind them. He glanced at Glorfindel, who looked distant and strained. His eyes were dark, lost in memory. Legolas winced as he guessed what exactly the Vanyar was remembering. He had never forgotten his death. A hand reached up and the Balrog Slayer touched his long golden locks, and when he spoke his voice was soft.

"Could I get some of those?"

Legolas nodded adamantly. "Yes. I will have the man who made mine make you some, Gwador."

The affectionate name made Glorfindel's lips curve upward a tiny bit. Aragorn and Gandalf were confused as to why the assassin had called the Balrog Slayer brother. Gimli had no idea what the elf had just said, and did not care. Radagast, however, had a big smile on his face as he watched Glorfindel give the young elf an affectionate pat on the arm before turning to the dwarf.

"Where is the rest of your party?" the Vanyar questioned.

Gimli shrugged. "They should be at the palace by now. We got separated."

"Then we should be heading there," Gandalf said briskly. "They'll be worried about you, no doubt about it. Let us go ease their minds."

They burned the orcs' bodies, smoke rising into the air, and departed, returning swiftly to the palace.

None of them noticed that a single orc had escaped the massacre, and was currently running far away from the battle, intent on its new mission. It was a captain, and it had found the Hidden One. It did not know whether the elf, man, or dwarf was the Hidden One, but it knew that when it had come upon the battle, it could no longer hear its master in his mind.

The captain had to get away from the elves and Mirkwood, and tell its master what had happened. Because even though it did not know which one the Hidden One was, it knew what the Hidden One looked like. It had to inform its master of this. Its master would know what to do.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

Legolas was silent as the mismatched party made their way back to the Elvenking's palace. They were an interesting and strange group. Two elves, two Wizards, a dwarf, and a man. All they needed was a hobbit for their odd band to b complete. However, despite the company he kept, the violet-eyed elf felt dread settling in his gut.

Glorfindel noticed his little brother's increasing discomfort, watching as he seemed to shrink in on himself more with each step. His face was blank but his eyes revealed his worry.

"It will be all right," the Vanyar told him quietly, too softly for the others to hear.

"Will it really?" Legolas murmured back in a small voice. "I humiliated their Princess. They'll hate me."

"She deserved it." Glorfindel growled coldly. She deserved a lot worse. I hope Thranduil punishes her properly. "The warriors will see that. They'll shun her, not you. Her actions were rude and dishonorable, and it will take a while for the warriors to respect her again."

"...Then Bereneth is going to hate me." the assassin muttered. "A lot."

"If she attacks you, you can kick her royal ass again." Glorfindel said vehemently.

That forced a chuckle out of Legolas, and he felt much better. Again, he was reminded of how safe he felt around his big brother. It was nice to know that someone had his back so fully. The assassin stayed close to the Balrog Slayer as they entered the palace grounds. Thranduil, Aglar, Elrond, the twins, and a couple familiar dwarves— _Fili and Kili,_ Legolas noted.— were hurrying towards them, told of their arrival by the guards.

"Gimli!" the brothers chorused. "You're all right?"

"Of course I'm all right." Gimli grunted. "You're not getting rid of me that easy."

"Thanks for finding him Esgal." Kili chirped, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Thank you for finding poor little Gimi when he got lost in the woods."

"I did not get lost!" Gimli snapped.

"Riiigggghhhht." the brothers drawled, disbelieving.

Thranduil cleared his throat, stepping forward and drawing attention to him. "Welcome to my home, Gimli, son of Gloin. I am glad you have returned from your... detour safely."

The dwarf studied the Elvenking suspiciously for a moment before giving him a short bow. "Thank you for welcoming me, Elvenking."

"Now that you are no longer missing, we can begin forming the new agreement between our realms." the Sindar said, turning to the two Dwarf Princes. "Your friend Balin, the negotiators, and my advisers have already begun. Let us go inside."

Before they could move a single step, a shout made them all halt in their tracks.

"You! How dare you humiliate our Princess!"

A warrior was stalking towards them, an angry expression on his face. Legolas recognized the elf as one of the ones who had wanted to spar with him, and had been present at Bereneth's defeat. So much for all of the warriors seeing that their Princess's actions were arrogant and rude.

"You impudent peasant! You filth!" the warrior snarled. "You have no honor! You used underhand, vile tactics to defeat our Princess! How dare you dishonor her you cowardly homeless trash!"

The watchers could not believe the warrior's gall. He had insulted Esgal, in front of the Elvenking of all people! Thranduil's entire visage darkened but before he could speak, Gimli leapt forward, grabbing the warrior by the front of his shirt and forcing him down to his level.

"Listen here you piece of orc-scum!" the dwarf snarled. "I've only just met Esgal, but I know for a fact that he is one of the bravest people I know! He's been fighting for and defending this realm for a while, and yet you stand there and insult him like a whining elfling. Learn some respect or leave him alone, bastard! Or I'll hit you with my axe so hard that you'll land in Mount Doom!"

With great strength he shoved the stunned warrior to the ground, glaring at the elf until he staggered to his feet and fled. There was a heartbeat of shocked silence before the younger Prince of Erebor spoke.

"Who would have thought that Gimli, son of Gloin, would befriend an elf." Kili teased.

Gimli scowled at him. "Shut up..."

His embarrassment and anger melted away when he saw the smile on Legolas's face.

"Thank you." the elf said in his soft, musical voice.

Gimli turned red, shifting uncomfortably. "Yeah... Anytime."

"Good." Glorfindel spoke suddenly, startling them all. "I can trust you to ward off any idiots that try to hurt my brother then. Esgal is too nice for his own good. If someone bothers him, could you beat them up for me?" There was a glint in the Elf Lord's eye that stunned the group from Rivendell, inwardly pleased Thranduil, and made the dwarves grin.

"I can take care of myself, Gwador." Legolas muttered.

Next to him, Aglar felt anger course through him and heaviness settle in his gut, making it tighten. His fists clenched and his lips pursed when he heard Esgal call the Balrog Slayer "brother". He was confused by the sudden surge of jealously that ripped through his veins, making his eyes darken. Why should it matter to him what the assassin called the Vanyar?

"Of course you can." Glorfindel said, unaware of the burning glare Aglar was sending his way. "But you're still too nice. You won't hurt idiot elves that insult you. Gimli will." the Vanyar smirked darkly. "And so will I."

No one doubted his words, and Thranduil did not protest about the Balrog Slayer threatening his warriors. If they hurt or insulted Esgal, they deserved it in his opinion. "Now that that is over with, let's go inside." the Elvenking said calmly.

The group began to file into the front door, but Aglar held back.

"Esgal. May I speak with you a moment?" the silver-haired elf asked cautiously.

Legolas hesitated a moment before nodding. He stopped outside the door, Glorfindel pausing as well. The assassin gave his big brother a smile.

"It's all right." he murmured.

The golden-haired Elf Lord did not move. The Vanyar pinned the silver-haired elf with a glare, an obvious message in his eyes. _Hurt him and Crown Prince or not, I will make you wish you had __**never been born.**_

Glorfindel turned to Legolas, giving him a bright, encouraging smile before he walked into the palace. The assassin and Aglar stood far apart, looking away from each other as a tense silence fell over them. The Crown Prince cleared his throat awkwardly.

"I wish to apologize for my sister's behavior... and my own. I judged you based on rumor and the words of others, rather than let myself see for myself who you are. I know I haven't been the most... pleasant elf around you, but I would like to start over. I would like a second chance." He offered his hand.

Legolas did not hesitate, taking the Prince's hand and giving it a firm shake. "Your suspicion can be forgiven. I am Esgal, an elf of Mirkwood that just happens to be an assassin."

Aglar smiled, a tiny grin. "And I am Aglar, also an elf of Mirkwood, but one who happens to be the Crown Prince."

Legolas put on a thoughtful face, head tipping to the side. "I have heard that Crown Princes are arrogant, aloof, prissy elves."

The silver-haired chuckled. "And _I_ have heard that assassins are violent, emotionless weapons."

The violet-eyed elf's purple orbs glinted. "Let's prove each other wrong, shall we?"

And Aglar found himself smiling a full grin, one that revealed his white teeth and lit up his face. "I think that we shall."

And the second chance began.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

The orc halted, breathing heavily, and sat down hard on a rock. It was far from Mirkwood, far from the elf, man, and dwarf that had killed its kin. It closed its eyes, testing itself, and was pleased to find that its bond with its master had returned.

"_My master..."_ it called mentally.

There was a moment of silence before the Witch-King responded. _"Report."_

"All of my kin are dead." the orc said. "They were all killed. But I have found the Hidden One, though I do not know which warrior he was. Three warriors killed my kin. An elf, a man, and a dwarf. Then two Wizards came—"

"They do not matter," the Witch-King interrupted. He knew it was not the Wizards that blocked his sight. "The elf, man, and dwarf. Describe them to me."

The orc did, confusion clouding its thoughts as it was unable to show what he had seen and what the elf, man, and dwarf had looked like. Instead it described them in amazing detail, from their weapons to their eye color. Every fact was passed on from servant to Lord, and the Witch-King was easily able to identify the elf, man, and dwarf.

The man was Estel, adopted son of Elrond. The Witch-King knew that no human could block his master's power, and did not care about him. The dwarf was Gimli son of Gloin of the Erebor quest. The dwarves were stubborn, but they would not be able to block his Sight either. Dwarves could not perform such magic.

Then there was the elf. The elf he was able to identify the moment the orc mentioned violet eyes. The elf who he had not thought about in years. The elf who he had believed was dead, who he thought had been slain long ago, but had only been in hiding for so many years.

The Witch-King dismissed his servant, ordering it back to Minas Morgul, and leaned back in his chair, deep in thought. _So, Legolas Thranduilion is still alive. It is amazing that he kept himself hidden for so long. Then again, it seems he is more of a threat than I once thought. You taught your apprentice well, Ciaran. I will give you that much._

The Witch-King knew that he would not be able to find Legolas, and also knew that sending an assassin after the elf would be useless. That was made obvious when the violet-eyed elf killed the two assassins he sent after the Elvenking. And now the Witch-King's fears had finally been realized. Legolas had revealed and allied himself with the elves.

_He is not a threat, merely a small complication,_ the Nazgûl Lord thought. _It does not matter that Saruman and I will be unable to spy upon the elves when he is with them. Knowing their movements and plans do not affect my Master's coming. Once my Master has come to Middle-earth, the elven realms will fall, along with the rest of this world. The fools will not know what has happened until it is too late. _

LOTRLOTRLOTR

From within his prison, the Darkness heard it all.

_An elf, a dwarf, and a man..._ he thought.

An elf, man, and dwarf fighting side by side against the Shadow. Such a grouping was unheard of, each race keeping its distance from the other. But the news of the different races allying themselves would not have bothered the Darkness, if not for that fact that they were _three_ warriors. Not only that, but according to the orcs the elf used a _bow_ and _arrows_, the man used a _sword_, and the dwarf used an _axe_.

An elf, a man, and a dwarf. Three warriors from three races that normally hated and mistrusted each other, yet had quickly become comrades in arms.

_Three_ allies.

_Three_ races.

_Three_ warriors.

_Three_ Weapons. A Bow with Arrows, a Sword, and an Axe.

_Three_ Wielders. An Elf, a Man, and a Dwarf...

No. He was being paranoid and over-thinking the situation. It did not matter that a dwarf, man, and elf had become fast friends. Such quick attachments were quite common among mortals, and the elf had been raised by one, so it was not that surprising. He was looking too deeply into this. He was seeing connections where they did not exist. It was just a coincidence. Each warrior had merely used the favored weapon of his race. There was nothing deeper than that.

The Darkness scoffed at his own behavior and feelings, annoyed with himself. There was little chance that they were the Three. It was foolish of him to think that the first elf, man, and dwarf trio he heard of could wield the Weapons. That was if the Weapons even existed, and Lorien the Valar was merely trying to scare him with false prophecy. Yes, that was it. The Valar were not cold enough to make elves create the Black Weapons, thus sending them to their deaths, and the elves of old were not brave enough to take the steps on their own to create them.

The Weapons were only a story told to make him rethink his escape. The Valar knew of his power and what he would do to Arda once he got out. And he would get out. Only one more piece of the puzzle was needed for him to be free of his wretched prison. And when he did, all of Arda would tremble. When he broke free, Black Weapons or no, not even the Darkness of Morgoth would be able to compare.

He would destroy Middle-earth.

He would raze the Undying Lands.

He would decimate Valinor.

He would annihilate all of Arda.

And in the end, only _he_ would remain.

In the end, there would only be Darkness.

**LOTRLOTRLOTR**

**A/N: Well... that was menacing. O_O I had fun with the Royal Fight in the beginning. Even though I made Bereneth, it was fun to have Thranduil kick her off her high horse. You'll have to wait and see whether Bereneth is becoming a Shadowed Elf or whether her negative emotions are her own. **

**Legolas's fear about his dodging instinct getting one of his allies hurt/killed was born after I watched The Hunger Games. In a scene, Katniss dodged a spear, and it hit Rue instead of her, which caused the girl to die. :'( Legolas was already in his "assassin mentality" from battling the first wave of orcs. That is why he did not think of freeing Aragorn and Gimli immediately. Because even with all his caring and concern for allies, Legolas was raised an assassin and hasn't dealt with friends in a battle before. His first instincts are to kill the enemy and survive the fight. He needs to learn how to fight alongside others in skirmishes. That will be a big part of next chapter.**

**If you read last chapter's ending Author's Note in the first hour the chapter was posted, you accidentally got a spoiler for this chapter. Somehow (stupid laptop...) part of the A/N for this chapter ended up in last chapter's A/N. I deleted it as soon as I noticed it. This is what it said: "_Has anyone ever had elves put spikes in their braids before? It seems to me that their long hair would let enemies grab it, and use it to drag them around if they're not wearing a helm. Didn't Glorfindel die because the Balrog grabbed his hair and dragged him down with it?_" Again, stupid laptop... STOP DOING THAT! :( One thing I need help with though: Have I had anyone touch Legolas's hair in any of the "Third Age 2956" chapters? He has had the spikes the whole time so if they did, I need to change that.**

**(WARNING! SPOILER! MAJOR SPOILER! DO NOT READ IF YOU DO NOT WANT TO KNOW! I'M SERIOUS ABOUT THIS! TURN AWAY NOW IF YOU DON'T WANT SPOILERS! LAST CHANCE! IF YOU DO NOT WANT SPOILERS, DO NOT READ!) Iwillbeblunt:TheDarknessisnotSauron,anditisnotMorg oth..YesIstuckthewordstogetheronpurposesohopefully peoplethatdonotwanttoknowwon' 'swhyImadethisA/Nsolongtotrytohidethisforthosewhod on'twannaknow. (END OF SPOILER! IT IS SAFE NOW!)**

**Ew. Long A/N. :(**

**Thanks to everyone who read, favorited, followed, and reviewed!**

**Responses to Guest reviews:**

**To "Guest" (1): Thank you! Legolas will tell his name to someone. (Unless I change my mind).**

**To "Guest" (2): Thanks! Um... Just don't kill Bereneth when you're having your little "talk". I need her back in relatively one piece. Preferably with all of her limbs and with her heart still beating. :P You saw what Thranduil did. I love Glorfindel. And Radagast. They are such awesome but underused and underrated characters. Maybe I'll inspire people to use them more! That would be epic! :D No, Estel did not fall off of anything... this time. (sniggers)**

**To "Anony-Mouse": Thanks! I'm so happy that you love it! :D Legolas really does need more brotherly love. :) That's why I love to write scenes where he is with Glorfindel. Legolas feels safe enough with him to act playful and his age. (He really is a young elf still, and will be for a long time). You saw how angry Thranduil was. I hope you were satisfied with his "talk" with Bereneth.**

**To "Badass female": Cool! I might check it out. Thank you!**

**To "Iluvlegolas": Thank you! Part two will be a part of this story. Glorfindel will dim his glow whenever he enters Mirkwood, to try to be less painful for the shadowed trees. My laptop is still being a stupid jerk. :(**

**To "Lucy": Thanks for reviewing! No, it's not Christmas. :P I wish it was...**

**To "Dee": Thank you and you're welcome. :D**

**To "Issy" Thanks! I know I need to add more chapters like that. I have a couple ideas for more bonding, family, and friendship chapters. (I plan on doing a prank war chapter with Legolas, Glorfindel, and Fael vs Elladan, Elrohir, and Aragorn, with Thranduil, Elrond, and Erestor thrown in. Plus another encounter with Bereneth in said chapter... ) Yes, Thranduil subconsciously knows. Megilag, Barhad, and Fael accept Esgal. Fael is his friend and feels a close bond with him. Bereneth doesn't trust him and is being a... witch-with-a-"b". Hannel also doesn't trust him but will keep her thoughts to herself and keeps her distance. Aglar is trying to get to know him. To do with Legolas's "death": Thranduil clings to hope even though he doesn't consciously acknowledge it. Fael, Hannel, Aglar, and Barhad accept that he is "dead", but become quiet or cold if Legolas is mentioned. Bereneth still becomes angry and upset whenever someone mentions him. Megilag is beginning to recover, and shift back towards his old personality. It is a subconscious thing because "Esgal" is there.**

**To "TiTaN": Thank you! That means a lot to me.**

**To "emi": Thanks! Most of Berenth's actions were fueled by jealousy, arrogance, and a need to show off. She is going to regret how she treated/is going to treat Esgal _very much_ at a later time. You saw a bit of the jealousy. Legolas is eventually going to take part in a meeting... Its going to be interesting. **

**To "Guest" (3): Thank you!**

**To "Devil Red": Thank you for reviewing and you're welcome. :) Those that can sense presences like Legolas and Elrohir can identify people by their glow. Those that cannot sense presences cannot identify elves that way.**

**To "Guest"(4): Thanks! Yeah, the dwarf was Gimli. Good job with guessing it was him! There will be much bonding between Legolas and Thranduil. Some of it is next chapter, I think. **

**To "FalenOfTheForest": Thanks for reviewing! There will be much more antagonism between those two.**

**To "Naomi": Thank you!**

**To "Jade": Thanks! She does need a lot of guidance. Will it help? You'll have to wait and see. This is going to be a major AU story so there won't be a "Lord of the Rings". However, you are right that they won't find Legolas until after a bunch of stuff happens.**

**To "SilverNM": Thank you!**

**To "Guest"(5): Thanks! I agree. Poor Legolas... the elves are so mean!**

**To "Angel": Thank you! Yes, he will.**

**Please review!**


	19. 18: Pranks, Bonding, and Meetings

**A/N: A very special "THANK YOU!" to L.J. Gryphon for sneaking out of the shadows and giving me the awesome new cover for this story. THAAANNNNNKKKK YYYYYOUUUUUUUUUU! :D :D :D**

**I did it again. I added another TWO chapters I did not originally plan for. Whatever. More chapters is good! For those who asked, this means that The Present/Today is in four chapters, and Part Two begins in five. **

**The first part of this chapter is rather humorous, but the second part is much more serious. This is my first attempt in doing something so humorous... we'll see what happens.**

**This chapter is one year after last chapter.**

**LOTRLOTRLOTR**

**Chapter Eighteen: Pranks, Bonding, and Meetings**

_Third Age 2957 (54 years ago...)_

The moment Legolas stepped into the Last Homely House, he knew something was amiss. The home of Elrond, his family, and his close advisers and friends was silent. Unlike usual, there were no servants bustling about, and no warriors walking through the city as they headed out on patrol or to go train. Instead, the halls were empty and everything was silent.

Cautiously, the assassin backed away from the front door, instead choosing to enter through a second-story window. He came into what appeared to be a study, books and papers lying morosely on a desk in the center of the room. The violet-eyed elf unsheathed a dagger and entered the hall.

He could sense the presences of elves around the building, all in rooms or out in the forest. Odd, but it was almost like... they were hiding? Legolas moved soundlessly through the stone hallway, senses alert as he searched for threats. He did not sense the presences of any enemies— though the Shadowed Elves tainted energy made him cringe. All he sensed were elves, and one man. Aragorn was here then, with the twins to be exact.

Suspicion crept into the assassin's thoughts but before he could follow it, a familiar cry sounded through the air. It was shocked, sharp, and slightly pained, but Legolas was moving before his mind had fully registered the sound. He recognized the voice, despite the walls between them.

It was Glorfindel.

The assassin sped down the hall towards where the Balrog Slayer's shout had come from, halting outside the door next to the room he knew his big brother was in. He dashed into the room, opened the window, and swung his body out and sideways to the left. He smashed through the window in the next room, landing on his feet in a battle-ready stance.

His violet eyes took in the scene in front of him in a heartbeat. Glorfindel was tied to the rafters in blankets, struggling uselessly in an attempt to get down. Near the door, Aragorn, Elladan, and Elrohir were laughing hysterically as the watched the Balrog Slayer's failure to free himself from the trap.

"You walked right into that one, Glor— _Whoa!_"

Elladan's taunt was cut off abruptly as Esgal leapt in through the window, shattering the glass and looking ready for battle. His violet eyes were narrowed dangerously, his knives were out, and his teeth were bared in a predatory snarl. Legolas did not speak, merely staring at the three pranksters with calculating eyes. Despite themselves, the three brothers quailed under his gaze.

His arm flicked and four throwing knives flew free of his hands. The weapons sliced through the mix of ropes and blankets that had caught his brother, cutting him free. The Vanyar plummeted a couple feet before he twisted, landing with the agility taught to him by the assassin. He straightened, walked over to Legolas, and gave him a smile.

"Thank you, Gwador."

The violet-eyed elf was still staring neutrally at the three sons of Elrond. "I suppose you three are the reason everyone is hiding in their rooms." he said flatly.

"Yes..." Aragorn admitted hesitantly.

"We were bored." Elladan explained. "Ada gave us free reign for the week. I'm surprised, seeing as how Thranduil, Bereneth, and Fael are here."

Legolas's eyebrow slowly crept up his forehead, and for a moment the three perpetrators were eerily reminded of their father. "Where are they?"

"Thranduil and Bereneth are in Ada in his study." Elrohir reported, growing bolder since the assassin was not threatening them with pointy objects... yet. "Fael is..."

The younger twin paused, and exchanged a horrified glance with his brothers. "He—"

"BLASTED IDIOTS! DEVIOUS FIENDS! IF YOU DON'T LET ME DOWN I SWEAR TO ERU _I WILL KILL YOU ALL!_" an enraged and familiar voice screamed from a distance.

Aragorn paled and scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "I think we forgot to let him down... Heh heh... Oops."

Legolas was already out the door, headed towards Fael's furious shouts. He entered the dining hall and looked up. Fael was suspended close to the ceiling, dressed in what looked like a type of sheet and with black pain covering his face, his hair sticking up at odd angles. The Prince spotted the assassin and almost cried with relief.

"Esgal! Help me down!"

The violet-eyed elf nodded and ran at the wall, scaling the stone-blocks as easily as a squirrel climbed trees. He launched off of the wall, clutching to the contraption keeping Fael aloft and forcing a surprised yelp from the elf.

"Careful!" he yelped, then blanched. "How did you even get up—?"

"Hold onto the rope but your right hand," Legolas interrupted, businesslike.

Fael did as he asked, clinging to the rope. The assassin did as well, slashing through the other rope and letting it fall. The silver-haired Prince grunted as the support holding him fell away, swinging down towards the ground and forming a rope-and-bedsheet rope that would allow them to climb down closer to the ground rather than drop from the height. The two descended quickly, Fael gasping in relief as his feet touched the ground. Wild-eyed, the Prince hugged the assassin, making him gasp in surprise, and was almost sobbing into his shoulder. Legolas patted Fael's hair awkwardly, trying to pull away, but the Prince refused to let him go.

"Thank the Valar that you are here! They've been pranking and ganging up on me all week!" the hysterical wailed.

"You're not the only one." Glorfindel muttered, crossing his arms and glowering at the three dark-haired males, who put on expressions of innocence no one fell for.

At that moment the assassin broke out of the frazzled silver-haired elf's hold and turned to the sons of Elrond. He did not break his silence, and only stared at them, an odd emotion in his eyes. Then he smiled, and Aragorn and the twins swore it was the most terrifying smile they had ever seen.

He spoke, in a voice that was soft and calm, but chilled the three to the bone. "This means _war_."

The assassin walked away, and instinctively Glorfindel and Fael went with him, exiting the dining room and leaving the dark-haired males standing frozen next to the makeshift rope. Elladan slowly turned to his brothers, face pale.

"We're dead."

The others could not contradict his statement.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

The next morning, three screams were heard as three certain pranksters awoke from their sleep. Elrond and Thranduil— who were conversing about nothing in particular while walking through the halls— halted in their discussion, looking in the direction of the bedrooms with surprise. A snicker from the shadows made them turn, and both were again stunned to see Fael standing there, a triumphant look upon his face.

"What has pleased you so greatly, my son?" the Elvenking asked hesitantly, not sure he wanted to know.

The silver-haired Prince bared his teeth in a sadistic grin. "_Justice_ has been served." he proclaimed darkly and walked away, cackling.

The two Elf Lords looked at each other, wearing almost identical expressions of worry and alarm. Then Thranduil broke eye contact, shrugging amiably.

"They brought it upon themselves, Elrond."

The Peredhel just sighed heavily. "...I'm going back to my study to hide."

He hurried away. A moment later, the sounds of rapid, stumbling footsteps sounded through the halls, heading towards the Elvenking. He stepped out of the way as three.. ellith?... with shocking pink hair burst into the hall, shouting and ranting in rather manly voices.

"I cannot believe he actually did this!" the "elleth" in the blue dress cried, and the Sindar recognized Aragorn's voice.

Was that really Aragorn beneath all of that pink and cosmetics? Ah, yes it was. Thranduil could see that stubbly beard the Ranger was wont to have.

"I can't walk in this!" the "elleth" in the purple dress complained, and by the tone, the Elvenking guessed it was Elladan. The older twin hoisted up the skirt of his dress, muttering angrily. "Where could he have hidden our clothes!"

The last "elleth", whose red dress clashed terribly with his pink hair, spoke up. "He probably put them out in the woods. He wouldn't have burned them right?"

"I think he might have." Aragorn said darkly. "He was pretty angry that we pranked his Gwador and Fael all week..."

The Ranger trailed off, having just spotted their stunned spectator standing at the edge of the hall. The man turned a red so bright it was visible through the cosmetics Esgal had put on the man. The Sindar did not know where Esgal had learned how to apply make-up like that, but whoever had taught him did a fantastic job. On women, the blush, eyeliner, and color the assassin had added would have enhanced the wearer's beauty to the extreme. On the males, it was absolutely hilarious.

"Elvenking Thranduil." Aragorn squeaked, drawing the twins attention to the stunned elf. "Um... You wouldn't happen to know where Esgal put our clothes, would you?"

Thranduil stared. And stared. And stared some more. Then his composure shattered. "HA HAHA HA HA HA!"

The Elvenking guffawed, laughing so hard his stomach hurt. He doubled over, chortling in a most not-elfish way while the three "victims" looked on with mortification. They backed away from the cackling Sindar, fleeing in order to continue their quest to find appropriate clothes. They knew they would not be able to find the assassin responsible for their humiliation, which only made the prank all the better. For Esgal, that was.

"We need to exploit his weaknesses and draw him out into the open!" Elladan hissed, thoughts filled with ideas on how to get back at the violet-eyed elf.

With that in mind the three— after borrowing clothes from a few sniggering warriors and washing the cosmetics off of their faces— began to hunt down Fael and Glorfindel. They would have looked quite murderous and dangerous, if not for the fact that their hair was still pink. Whatever Esgal had used, it was _not_ coming out.

Their targets were not in their rooms, the kitchen, dining room, training grounds, studies, Elrond's study— which they were specifically told to _stay away_ from— or healing ward. That left one place they could be if they had not fled to the woods.

The three now pink-haired males crept to the library door, opening it carefully and peering inside. Sure enough, there their targets were, reading books and smirking to themselves. And next to them, dusting the shelves, was Erestor. There was only one place where pranks were not allowed, _ever_, if you valued your life. Erestor did not tolerate anyone threatening his precious books, and if they did... the result was not pretty. As it was, the adviser could smell a prank from a mile away, and would not let the three sons of Elrond into the library at all if he sensed something was up.

And so, when Erestor turned away from his dusting and _glared_ at the three pink-haired pranksters, they did not bother stepping foot in the adviser's sanctuary. Slowly, like they were backing away from a mother bear with cubs, they quietly shut the door, running off down the hall so fast one would think a Ringwraith was chasing them.

Once they were far enough away, Aragorn turned to his brothers, scowling deeply. "Now what?"

"They can't stay in there forever!" Elrohir growled, pushing his pink hair out of his face.

"Who are you talking about?" Esgal's voice sounded from behind them, sweetly innocent.

The three turned towards him like cats sighting an injured bird.

"Get him!" Elladan shouted.

The assassin took off running, laughing all the way as the enraged trio ran after him. Esgal led them on a merry chase through the Hidden Valley, mush faster than them and able to easily keep ahead by using his agility and acrobatics. He ran on rooftops, sprang off of walls, and dodged through tight spaces without slowing in the slightest. His three pursuers, meanwhile, were not as agile, and were forced to run after him on the ground.

After a half hour of chasing, Esgal abruptly halted in a clearing near the Last Homely House, just inside the forest. Instantly on guard, the trio spread out around the assassin, watching him warily.

"Hello Estel!" the violet-eyed elf said chirpily. "I love what you've done with your hair."

The ranger glowered at him. "Tell me how to get this out!" he commanded.

Esgal's head tipped and he smiled infuriatingly at the three. "Why should I?"

"Because if you do not..." Elladan threatened, stepping forward. "We will prank you so—"

"You'd have to catch me first." the assassin pointed out perkily.

"We have caught you." Elrohir proclaimed. "Three to one. I'm liking these odds."

A glint appeared in the assassin's eyes. "You should know better than to rely on superior numbers. But I suppose that I'm feeling nice today. You wash out the hair dye with alcohol.."

Aragorn blinked in surprise. "Alcohol?"

"Yes. Wine, beer, ale. Any kind will do." Esgal said, still smiling innocently. Then the grin shifted, turning into a predatory smirk. "You know what? I feel terrible about ruining your lovely hair... Let my friends help you fix it."

Around them, the trees rustled, and the Noldor half-elves and Dunedan human realized they had forgotten a _very_ important detail about a certain Wood-elf. The Light trees around Rivendell liked _him_ more than _them_.

Esgal's expression was triumphant and sadistically gleeful. "How are you liking these odds?" he asked in mock-curiosity

The three pink-haired males looked up, eyes widening in horror as the trees upturned the barrels of alcohol they had in their branches, the contents rushing down towards the pink-haired males.

Aragorn had time for a single word. "No—"

Then the river of smelly liquid was upon them.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

The prank war was declared over later that day, and it was undeniably Legolas's team that won. The twins and Aragorn admitted defeat after falling into a syrup trap set by the assassin and being stuck in it while the assassin and their former victims cheerfully stood there and mocked them. After five hours, the three promised to never prank Fael or Glorfindel, or try to prank Legolas, ever again. Or _else_.

The three still smelled like stale ale from the trees dousing them. Surprisingly, the mixture actually did take out the pink hair dye, returning their hair to its natural dark shade. Having decided that putting the prank war behind him was in his best interest, Aragorn questioned the assassin about the dye, curious as to why only alcohol would wash it out.

"The dye is special," Legolas explained. "Its meant for use in undercover missions where a change in hair color is necessary. It would not do for the dye to wash out in the middle of the mission, so having a specific neutralizer that the person will most likely not come into contact with is beneficial."

"And the cosmetics?" the Ranger demanded. "You did... surprisingly well with them."

Legolas snickered despite himself. "Did I make you feel _pretty_, Hope?"

The Ranger turned red and glared at him. "No. But I've seen human women wearing make-up."

The assassin sobered, shrugging. "It is another disguise technique. If I wanted to, I could use cosmetics to make myself look like an old human man."

"Your father really did teach you a lot, didn't he?" Aragorn murmured, impressed.

"Yes..." Legolas said softly, looking away. The distant grief prodded at him once before fading, and he put on a determined face. "Have you seen Glorfindel? I need to give him something. I didn't have the chance before."

"Last I checked, he was in the training grounds." the man offered.

The assassin nodded in thanks and hurried towards the spot, only to halt in the middle of the hall. His head turned in the direction of the main entrance and he frowned thoughtfully. New elves had come to Rivendell, and were just arriving in the Last Homely House. They seemed familiar, but only distantly so. Still, two of their auras were shockingly bright, even brighter than Glorfindel's when he let his glow out fully.

Curious, the violet-eyed elf headed towards the main entrance. He leapt leapt up to the roof and ran along them, leaping from rooftop to rooftop. He halted on the one closest to the main entrance, peering over the edge carefully.

Elrond had finally crept out from hiding in his study, and was standing beside Erestor, Thranduil, Fael, Bereneth, and the twins— who were now dressed in their own clothes after Legolas had finally given them back. They were greeting six elves, but Legolas's focus was on the golden-haired elleth and ellon clothed in white. Both glowed with the brilliant light he had sensed, bright, powerful, and beautiful. He could identify them now, their companions as well, and subconsciously checked to make sure his mental shields were fully up. No offense to the Lady of the Light, but he did not want his memories explored.

For down on the ground, being greeted by the Rivendell party, were Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn of Lothlorien. The Lord and Lady of the Light were indeed a sight to behold, and seeing them with their inner lights blazing, Legolas could not help but feel his old insecurities creeping up on him. He banished them immediately, reminding himself of the promise he had made in Mirkwood.

None of the elves had noticed him yet, so he took the time to study the Lord and Lady's four companions. The one in the red cloak was Haldir, the Marchwarden of Lorien. Beside him were two elves that the assassin recognized as the warrior's brothers, Rumil and Orophin. The last elf— an elleth— was being hugged warmly by the twins. She had dark hair, and even from a distance Legolas could see her silver eyes.

_She must be Arwen, Elrond's daughter,_ he thought.

Their conversation drifted over to his sharp ears.

"I didn't know you were coming for a visit, Arwen," Elrohir was saying happily.

"I was unaware as well," Elrond added, looking at the Lord and Lady. Concern flashed across his features, making his brow furrow and his mouth dip into a frown. "Has something happened?"

"No." Celeborn answered lightly. "We just wished to come and visit family."

The Peredhel relaxed, a weary smile appearing on his face. "That is a luxury we rarely receive lately."

Arwen broke her hug with Elladan, her nose wrinkling slightly. "You both smell terrible. Like a bar. Did you drink too much last night?"

The twins turned red. "Uh, well." Elladan stuttered.

"You see..." Elrohir began.

"They got in a prank war and lost," Fael revealed helpfully.

His friends glared at him.

"Prank war?" Erestor scoffed. "It was more like a prank _massacre_. Their hair was turned pink, they woke up in dresses and with women's dresses on, they had alcohol dumped on them, they were chased by a variety of animals including squirrels, a deer, foxes and our horses—"

"We remember, all right?" Elladan snapped irritably.

Arwen stared at him, alarm in her eyes at the thought of someone beating her brothers in pranking. She paused, worry becoming more evident. "Is Estel all right? Why isn't he here?"

"He is inside somewhere, most likely in the kitchen getting food." the younger twin rushed to assure his sister. "We didn't know you were coming, remember?"

The tension in the Evenstar's posture faded and she smiled wryly. "So you did not take revenge on him for pranking you?"

The twins scowled at her. "You think it was _Estel_ who managed to defeat us?" Elladan growled, insulted.

Up on the roof, Legolas tensed.

It was Haldir who asked the inevitable question. "Then who was it?" He knew how good the infamous twins were at pranking, and was curious as to who had managed to out-prank them so thoroughly.

The hiding assassin closed his eyes, breathing out deeply. _I am not afraid of their reactions. I am not ashamed of who I am. If they are confrontational and cold, it does not matter,_ he told himself, and knew it was the truth. He was not afraid anymore. And even though he would rather avoid Bereneth, that was no reason to stay hiding. He leapt down to the ground, silent as a shadow, and spoke in his soft, lilting voice. "That would be me."

All of the elves except Elrond, Thranduil, Galadriel, and Celeborn jumped in surprise. The fiery Princess of Mirkwood started scowling the moment she spotted the assassin, but Legolas ignored her, walking up to stand next to the Elvenking. The Sindar subconsciously shifted closer to the young elf, flashing him a reassuring smile.

Legolas found himself looking into bright blue eyes as the Lady of the Light looked upon him. She looked as young as any of the Eldar, but her eyes revealed her true wisdom and age. There was _knowing_ in her gaze, her eyes having seen many things that were, are, and might yet be. The assassin could not focus on the other elves, because he knew deep inside himself that it was Galadriel that needed to accept him. If she did, the other Lotlorien elves would as well. After a pause that seemed to stretch on, but only lasted a short moment, the golden-haired elleth spoke.

"Hello, young one." the beautiful Lady murmured. "I am glad you have chosen to reveal yourself to us at last."

And just like that, everyone relaxed.

"Daernaneth, Daeradar, Arwen," Elrohir began. "This is Esgal... He's the one that defeated us so thoroughly..." The twin added grudgingly.

"You pranked Fael and Gwador all week." Legolas said flatly. "You deserved it."

"Gwador?" Haldir repeated with surprise. "You have a brother?"

"He and Lord Glorfindel are heart-brothers." Elrond explained for the young elf.

The three Lothlorien brothers and Arwen looked at the assassin with a mixture of surprise and respect.

Legolas internally winced. _Why must they always __**stare**__ at me?_ He lamented silently, unnerved.

Oddly enough, it was Galadriel that came to his rescue. "Could you walk with me, Esgal?" she asked him.

There was something in her voice that made the violet-eyed elf paused. He looked into her solemn, wise eyes, and realized it was not a random request. She wished to speak with him for some reason. The assassin nodded and slowly the two elves walked out of the Last Homely House, strolling leisurely beneath the trees.

It was the Noldor that broke the silence. "You are quite the unique elf, young one."

Her tone was not cruel or judging, but Legolas still tensed slightly. "Yes. I am who I am."

"Indeed." she said. "You remained hidden for a long time, even my Sight unable to see you. May I ask why you kept in the shadows and avoided the elves for so long?"

The assassin shifted nervously, looking up at the trees for comfort. "I... physically hid from the elves because I was afraid that they would judge me, at first. Then I gained a... feeling whenever I thought of revealing myself to large groups of them. It was only later that I learned I was unconsciously hiding from the elves who are..." he stopped, wondering if the Lady knew about the Shadowed Elves.

"I am aware of the Darkness that has taken hold in some of our kin." she told him. "It was not them you hid from, but the Darkness inside."

"Do you know what it is, My Lady?" he asked her.

She did not respond, looking upon him with eyes too wise for her deceptively young face. "Even now you hide," Galadriel murmured. "Your glow is suppressed deep within you."

"Can you sense it?" Legolas asked hesitantly.

She smiled mysteriously. "Yes and no. I know it is there but I cannot sense it. It is your protection, and your shield. In turn, it is also protected by remaining within you instead of being out in the harshness of this world."

She turned away from him, reaching out and touching one of the trees around them. It reacted to her touch, rustling softly. A sad expression crossed the fair elleth's face and her wise blue eyes slowly closed. "The elves are fading, losing our strength and power. It is the least prominent in our kin in Mirkwood, but the Darkness is harming us even there." She looked at him with knowing eyes. "You know why."

"Yes." he stated simply. "Elves are creatures of Light, and their glow is an extension of their soul. The touch of the Shadow is harming them, slowly weakening them."

"Yes." Galadriel said. "That is why so many of our kin seek healing in the West. That is why, after the Shadow is defeated, we must leave Middle-earth. We may linger for a few centuries more, but we must eventually depart, or fade. For even after the Darkness is destroyed, it will linger in this land, for its hold is too deep to be vanquished completely. The Golden Trees will die, the old ways will fade, and this world will become Man's."

She stepped forward and placed a hand on his arm, looking upon him with all of her wisdom. "But you are different, young Esgal. You shielded yourself, taking your glow within you to protect it, strengthening it by keeping it away from the Darkness's touch." Her gaze darkened. "I cannot see your future, your mind, or your soul, but there is one thing my instincts tell me that I must ask you to do."

Galadriel became firm and determined, the image of the Lady of the Light, and spoke softly into Legolas's ear. "Do not let your inner light shine. Do not allow it out from within you. Keep it safe around your heart and soul. Keep it strong and growing stronger, free of the Darkness's poison."

"Why?" the assassin asked, confused.

"A Darkness is coming to this land, one of great power that even I do not know the extent of. An ancient creature that never should have been awakened is coming, so deep in the Shadow that I cannot see nor identify it."

The Lady of Lothlorien looked to the south, where far in the distance Mordor lay. "Something has happened that was not meant to, disrupting the flow of time and changing the future. Not all prophecies are meant to be, and sometimes new prophecies are formed because of an action unforeseen by all. I fear that Sauron will not be the Great Darkness that we must defeat in order for peace to come to Arda. But I do know this... you will be needed before the end of this war, in more ways than you know."

"My Lady, you are wise and you see and know so much..." The violet-eyed elf stared at her, slightly overwhelmed. Then he cleared his throat. "Do you... do you know who my family is?"

There was such fragile hope in his voice that Galadriel felt a piece of her heart shatter. She pulled him into a hug, the elf stiffening before relaxing against her. She gently touched his hair, avoiding his braids, and held him close as if by doing so she could erase all of the pain, sorrow, and loss he had suffered.

Legolas let himself stay in the Noldor's embrace, trying to recall if his mother had ever held him like this. He could not remember. He could not even bring up the memory of her death anymore. He did not remember her face, her hair color, or her eyes. His last memory from before Dol Guldur had faded, only the knowledge that his mother had been killed by orcs remaining. Now, reminded of that fact, Legolas wanted to weep.

"I do not know where you come from, young one." Galadriel said softly, eyes distant. "Your past, present, and future are all hidden from me. But do not lose hope, Esgal. When the time is right, you will find them."

_If they are even alive..._ the pale blonde-haired elf thought but did not say. "Thank you." he whispered, and pulled away. "I must go now. I have to find Gwa— Glorfindel."

The Light Lady laughed, a beautiful heartening sound. "I am glad that Glorfindel has found a brother." she said with a half-smile. "Go find him."

Unsure of what to say, Legolas bowed slightly and hurried away, finally heading off to find his brother.

**LOTRLOTRLOTR**

**A/N: The next chapter is a continuation of this one. I originally had a lot more stuff in this one, but it was going onto about 25 pages so I split it in two. It was pretty much a decision of "Do I update today and Monday with shorter-ish chapters, or do I only update Monday with a really long chapter because the second half isn't finished yet?" Some stuff I said would be in here is, but other stuff is in next chapter. If it isn't here, it will be there.**

**I could have made the prank war longer, but I'm not too sure on my humor-writing abilities. I hope I did okay... (shrugs) I dunno...**

**Thank you all for reviewing! I love all of the feedback I keep getting! :D**

**Responses to Guest reviews:**

**To "emi": Thank you! Legolas is going to fight the Witch-King. It is going to be an epic battle. Yes, the AU part is going to start soon. In... four chapters actually. Unless I add another chapter again. **

**To "Anony-Mouse": Thank you! Seriously, thanks! It was your review that made me realize that a certain idiotic laptop DELETED PART OF MY A/N! :( The part that was deleted explained that it was not the "M" person you mentioned in your review. It has something to do with him though. Yeah, its a major AU. If it wasn't I would get bored with writing it _reeaaaalllllyyyyy_ fast. I like to have freedom when writing and be able to my own story and plots. :)**

**To "Jade": Thanks! There will be Esgal and Thranduil interaction next chapter. **

**To "Guest"(1): Thank you!**

**To "Guest(2): Thanks! The reveal won't be for a while. **

**To "SilverNM": Thank you!**

**To "phoebe": Thanks!**

**To "Em": Thank you! Warriors are allowed to use live/sharp weapons in spars when they are 500 or older. Right now, the youngest warrior in Mirkwood (and the "youngest" elf in Middle-earth as far as the elves know) is about 700 in my mind. That is about a 200 year difference between Legolas and that elf. Legolas is the youngest elf in Middle-earth, and was/will be the last one born there. The elves do not know that he is so young. They know he is "young", but they don't know he is _that_ young. He acts so serious and quiet around most of them (not Glorfindel) that many actually believe he is over 1000 years old. The ones who know him a little better think he is around 700, 800 years old. Glorfindel's guess is the closest, thinking Esgal's age is about 600. To elves, each other's ages don't really matter so it is not like they would ask Esgal how old he is. **

**To "Kryst": Thanks for reviewing! **

**To "Issy": Thank you! There should be more detail with the brothers' feelings at least next chapter. I love the advise you keep giving me and the hints to how to make this story even better! Because of your request, I added a whole new section to next chapter. (That was originally a part of this one but got too long... :P) Gimli will appear again as "the Present" rolls around... four chapters away.**

**To "Naomi": Thanks! There is going to be a flashback as to why Legolas is not staying in the Mirkwood palace next chapter. Legolas will learn how to fight well with others next chapter. I know that for a fact because I have those sections done. :) Gimli will be bashing heads in when he returns, don't worry.**

**Please review!**


	20. 19: Trust Me

**A/N: It is a good thing I split last chapter up. This one is 29 pages. O_O' That is _long_. I could have split it up again, but I had it ALL done so I decided to post it as a looooonnnnngggggg chapter. :P**

**This chapter includes appearances from not-so-important OCs that have shown up before. Here's a list just so you have an idea of who they are:**

**_Rainor_: warrior of Rivendell, was there when Amulug was exiled**

**_Uilos_: warrior of Rivendell, was there when Amulug was exiled**

**_Thimben_: warrior of Mirkwood, was there when Fael fell into the river, went with Thranduil, Bereneth, and Fael to Rivendell**

**_Heled_: warrior of Mirkwood, was there when Fael fell into the river, went with Thranduil, Bereneth, and Fael to Rivendell**

**Enjoy the loooonnnngggggg chapter. :)**

**LOTRLOTRLOTR**

**Chapter Nineteen: Trust Me**

_Third Age 2957_

Legolas headed towards the training grounds he knew that Glorfindel occupied. The Vanyar was in the archery range, letting arrows fly at the targets hanging from the trees. Each shaft hit a bullseye, the Balrog Slayer moved on to the next target, unwilling to waste arrows by splitting his previous shot in half. He stopped shooting the moment the assassin came into view.

"Gwador." Glorfindel greeted. "Are you here to practice?"

The pale blonde-haired elf shook his head. "No. I came to give you something."

He retrieved said items from his pocket, placing them gently in Glorfindel's hand. The Balrog Slayer stared wordlessly at the thin, spike metal strands in his palm. Each one was carefully wrapped into a coil, but he could still see the length of each impossibly thin strand. Whoever had created the spikes must be a talented metalworker indeed.

"You got them."

"Of course I did. It only took so long because of the length of your hair." Legolas explained.

While the violet-eyed elf's hair only went to the small of his back, Glorfindel's went down to the back of his thighs. Despite what had occurred... before he had been resurrected, the Vanyar was determined to keep his locks long. Elves did not make the decision to cut their hair lightly.

But the spikes in the golden-haired warrior's hands were already making him feel better about his choice to keep his hair at its current length. Glorfindel touched the braid-spikes gingerly with a forefinger, careful not to cut himself. Even with his caution, he could feel the points on his fingers.

"They're very sharp. How do I put them on?"

"Allow me." Legolas offered.

Glorfindel unwound his warrior braids and the violet-eyed elf retrieved one of the braid-spikes. He inserted a small lock of the Vanyar's hair through the tiny hoop at the top of the spikes. Then he gently gripped both the braid-spike and hair by their ends with his thumb and forefinger. Expertly, Legolas began to wind up the braid, using the spike-and-hair as one of the three sections.

"The trick is to hold some hair with the spike, and hold both by their ends," he explained as he braided. "It hides the spikes better, and keeping your hands on the ends will prevent you from being injured."

"That is good to know." Glorfindel commented. "Can I sleep in these?"

Legolas frowned, touching his brother's hair and testing its thickness. "Yes. Most people who have the braid-spikes can. It would not help if the spikes pricked your scalp every time you moved." He finished the braid, tying it. "Would you like to try?"

The Vanyar nodded in assent and took another one of the braid-spikes, carefully braiding his hair with the secret little weapon wound in. Using the assassin's warnings and advice, he finished his braids without hurting himself. Glorfindel swung his head back and forth, his hair swinging around. He felt little added weight from the spikes, the light, thin metal unnoticeable visibly and almost weightless. There was no pricking when the braids hit his back as he moved.

The Balrog Slayer smiled at his brother. "Thank you." he said solemnly.

The young elf did not smile. In fact, his eyes were distant and dark. "...You should tell people that you have spikes in your hair now." he said, as if he had not heard Glorfinde's gratitude. "I... I've never had to worry about that before..."

Glorfindel's happy mood vanished as a neutral tone entered his little brother's voice. It was the one that appeared when he was trying to hide his emotions. Anger, sadness, worry, fear, all emotions could be subdued and hidden behind a shield of neutrality.

"What is the matter?" the Vanyar asked.

Legolas stiffened and turned his head away from the Balrog Slayer's intense stare. He instead looked at the targets his brother had shot, studying each bullseye as if they were fascinating.

"Why would you think that something—"

"Do not avoid the question." Glorfindel said sternly.

He knew he had to press the issue. Esgal was the type to let his thoughts fester, unwilling to let other people know what was bothering him because he did not wish to burden them. Legolas bit his lip, trying to decide whether he should tell his brother about the heavy weight upon him that had been haunting him for the past year.

"Gwador..." he said softly at last, looking at the ground. "Last year in Mirkwood, when I rescued Estel, I was too afraid to fight alongside them in battle. I have not fought alongside others in a skirmish like that before, and I was afraid that I would get them hurt."

"How?" the Vanyar asked.

The assassin shifted his weight, fingering one of his daggers. "In battle, my instincts are to dodge incoming blows. What if, by doing that, the blow meant for me swings past, and strikes one of my allies instead? Or what if, instead of striking out against an enemy, I instead kill my friends? Fighting is so _instinctive_, and I am so used to fighting alone, with only enemies around me. What if I accidentally cause harm to a friend because of this?"

The fear in his voice and eyes were very real, and the Balrog Slayer's heart went out to his brother. He had been alone for so long, even with him, Radagast, and Bilbo. The only battle he had fought in alongside allies was the Battle of the Five Armies. Glorfindel knew only bits and pieces from what the assassin had told him, but knew enough to recall that Esgal had fought side-by-side with Thorin and his nephews.

"You were all right in the Battle." he said.

Legolas sighed. "When I was with Fili, Kili, and Thorin, I was forced to stay in one spot, literally back-to-back with them. I knew they were _there_, and I knew that I had to block and dodge because they were _right behind me_ the entire time. My instincts do not normally matter in large-scale war anyway, because everyone is far enough away from each other that I can dodge with no problems. But in smaller battles, the area in which myself and my allies will be moving about in is greatly decreased. Also, we will either be acting as separate mobile fighters or untied units while slaying our enemies. I'm not used to that. I'm used to fighting with just me. It did not matter if a spear went past me. It would only hit an enemy. I did not need to look while stabbing behind me. There were only orcs in the battles. I don't feel comfortable about fighting with allies. I'm just so used to be _alone_..."

Glorfindel thought about this a long time, before his expression brightened as an idea came to him. "That is simple enough to fix. Come with me, Esgal."

He walked off with a determined air, Legolas drifting behind him.

"What are we doing, gwador?" he questioned.

"We're gathering some elves to help teach you how to fight with allies." the Balrog Slayer said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

Twenty minutes later, seventeen elves plus Aragorn were gathered in a wide-open space in the training grounds. Galadriel, Celeborn, Erestor, and Elrond stood near the side of the clearing. Legolas, Glorfindel, Aragorn, Thranduil, Elladan, Elrohir, Arwen, Bereneth, Fael, Rainor, Uilos, Haldir, Rumil, Thimben, Heled, and Orophin were gathered near the center. The Balrog Slayer stood beside a pile of training swords, which were wooden rods that had the same balance, weight, and length as real swords.

"Thank you all for agreeing to participate in this lesson," the Vanyar began. "Our purpose here today is to help Esgal learn how to fight alongside allies, something he has never done before. This will benefit us as well, in case we must fight alongside him in the future."

The warriors all nodded. Some were there to support and help Esgal, others just wanted to see the assassin in action, and still others— meaning Bereneth— was hoping they would get the chance to get back at the young elf.

Legolas was surprised that Thranduil was participating in the lesson, instead of watching like the other higher-classed elves. When Glorfindel questioned the Elvenking about this, he shrugged and said, "I haven't fought in a while. I want to make sure my skills are still sharp."

Accepting this, the Vanyar walked around, passing out the training swords. He then brought out an altered pair, which Legolas quickly realized were fashioned after his daggers. Glorfindel handed the assassin the wooden "weapons", and the pale blonde-haired elf tested their weight and balance. They were the same as his real daggers.

"Please put all real weapons at the edge of the arena," Glorfindel ordered.

The warriors unstrapped scabbards and laid down knives. Then all turned to stare as Legolas removed his weapons from his person. His twin daggers, thirty throwing knives, twenty shuriken, a long chain with a spiked head on the end, what looked like some type of claws, throwing stars and needles, and a garote were revealed. Then the elf began finding and taking out his many knives. Two in each sleeve, one at his lower back, one in each boot, three hidden on his legs, even a tiny one he had hidden beneath his tongue. Each weapon was set down with a _clink_, adding to the growing pile.

"Where does he _keep_ them all?" the assassin heard an awed Rumil whisper to Opophin, who shushed him.

The violet-eyed elf pretended he did not hear the question, reaching up to undo his braids.

"That won't be necessary," Glorfindel said. "You can keep them in. All of you, don't touch Esgal's hair." He paused, then added. "Or mine for that matter."

"Braid-spikes." Aragorn explained before anyone could ask.

The moment the words left the human's mouth, Legolas saw thoughtful expressions appear on Elrond, Celeborn, and Erestor's faces. The three male elves began speaking softly to each other, and beside them Galadriel smiled knowingly.

With that out of the way, the Balrog Slayer swung his sword experimentally, looking around at the gathered warriors. "All right. Elladan, Elrohir, Estel, Arwen, Uilos, Fael, Rumil, Orophin, Rainor, and Bereneth will be the "enemies". Thranduil, Haldir and I will be your "allies"." The Marchwarden looked surprised at being chosen but nodded readily enough. "Elrond, Erestor, Galadriel, and Celeborn are just observing, apparently."

"Can we be the blue team?" Elladan asked hopefully.

The Vanyar gave him an exasperated look before he rolled his eyes. "I knew you were going to ask that. Yes, you can be _blue_. And we'll be the red team."

"Why did you choose me to fight with Esgal?" Haldir interrupted, questioning the golden-haired warrior curiously.

"Because you two are almost complete strangers," Glorfindel explained. "You just met." A quick grin flashed across the Balrog Slayer's face. "Besides, I thought you would want to be on the red team."

The Marchwarden glanced at his red cloak before shrugging in acceptance. Uilos spoke up, hesitantly voicing his thoughts.

"That is ten people against four. Isn't that unfair?"

Aragorn's undignified snort made all look at him. The human turned pink under the scrutiny but spoke anyway. "...You've never seen Esgal fight a large group of enemies, have you?"

"No. Only you and Glorfindel have." Elladan answered for them all.

The man did not say anything. They would see for themselves in a moment.

"When you are "killed" step back and stay out of the fight for three seconds before returning. Do not use full strength with your strikes," Glorfindel continued giving directions. "I don't want to deal with any bruises or broken bones. Esgal, no pressure points."

"What about hand-to-hand?" the assassin asked.

The Balrog Slayer considered. "...All right. But only use the moves you would in spars. No stunning."

Both the golden-haired and pale blonde-haired elves were aware that Legolas could do much more than stun enemies with his bare hands, but the Vanyar knew that his little brother was perfectly capable of choosing what moves he would and would not use in a friendly fight. Then again, he was also capable of killing them in hundreds of ways with his wooden training knives... Still, he knew restraint.

Elrond began the countdown to begin the fight. "Three... two... one... Begin!"

Instantly, Legolas shifted into a less-deadly version of his assassin-self. Fight. Take out enemies. Survive. These became his foremost thoughts, and awareness of his allies' battles fled. He did not know where they were, only the "enemies" coming at him, and the other "enemies" around him.

He dodged Rumil's "sword", his own "dagger" flicking up to prod the other elf's chest gently— _They are not enemies. This is a spar._ — and dragged his other "knife" across Elladan's chest. He turned, dodging Uilos's swing, kicking him away hard enough to make him fall, but not enough to injure or hurt him. He ducked, lunged, and tapped Arwen on the chest, spun, knocked Aragorn's "sword" out of the way, and delivered a noticeable poke to the man's rib cage.

He moved with his regular speed, many of those around him stunned by his finesse and control. He did not parry or block, and he did not strike with what could even be considered "wounding" blows. Each hit was a "kill", and so the assassin move swiftly from opponent to opponent, each one forced to "die" and return quickly.

The way to defeat elves was to use superior speed and to immediately aim for the kill. Assassins like him were perfect for such a task, and why would he not be? Defeating scores of his fast, agile kin had been a large part of his training. Important elves had guards to protect them after all.

Legolas evaded a forward stab, grabbed Orophin's sword by the hilt as it passed, and— C_arefully. Gently._—twisted the blade out of the warrior's hand. He flipped the weapon and mimed a stab, one that would normally impale the warrior but was made into a swift jab. He then dropped the sword, allowing the Lorien elf to retrieve it. He sidestepped Elrohir's slash, and gave the younger twin a swipe across his stomach in return.

Trying a new tactic, Elladan, Arwen, and Aragorn tried to gang up on him. The assassin shifted out of the way of Arwen's stab, making her jab the Ranger solidly in the hip— Arwen apologized profusely as the man yelped— and the violet-eyed elf's "blades" blurred upward, crossing across the older twin's throat.

Elladan looked into the assassin's blank-yet-aware eyes and could not help but shiver. The violet orbs were calculating and cold, yet at the same time held a small twinkle of light that told him that Esgal was perfectly in control of himself, and would not hurt him. It was then that the older twin realized how glad he was that Esgal was on their side, and how very, _very_ relieved he was that this was only a mock-battle. The fight went on.

Legolas was unaware of his allies' battles, though the knowledge that he had people on his side lingered in the back of his mind. He did not attack them but was not fully acknowledging them either, as if he was caught in a mantra he could not escape.

Eliminate threats. Survive. Eliminate threats. _Survive_.

That was the assassin's mentality, the rule that had been ingrained into his being since the day he arrived in Dol Guldur. Assassins worked alone. Assassins fought alone. Assassins eliminated their target and took out threats. They did not have allies. They did not have others to care about. They could rely on no one. They were _alone_.

A hostile, fast-moving presence approached and he turned, to see Bereneth bearing down on him with her sword swinging down. Instinctively, the assassin dodged, and behind him Haldir gave a startled yelp as the "sword" hit him in the back, between his shoulder blades. The Marchwarden was stunned by the strength and power behind the blow, staggering forward.

"Halt!" Glorfindel called sharply, and everyone froze. The Balrog Slayer strode over to Haldir, placing a hand on the wincing warrior's arm. "Are you all right?"

The Marchwarden nodded and straightened.

"It just surprised me." He assured the Vanyar, even as a dull pain beat through his back.

"That was exactly what I was worried about," Legolas interceded, tone bitter.

"I can see why you are so concerned about this more clearly now," Elrohir added darkly, frowning. "Be glad that was not a real sword, Haldir."

"Even so, that blow was hard enough to leave a bruise," Elrond cut in, looking disapprovingly at Bereneth.

"Yes." Glorfindel stated, and turned to glare at the Princess. "This is a _learning_ exercise, Bereneth. I expected you to use some restraint."

"I was just trying to hit him," she gestured at Legolas. "I thought that was the point."

With forced calm and serenity, the Balrog Slayer said. "No, it is not. If you cannot understand that, I suggest you leave before you seriously injure a comrade." His unspoken words were obvious to Legolas, and the assassin had a feeling that Bereneth saw them as well: _You attempt at petty revenge has not gone unnoticed. Leave now or I'll call you out, in front of all these people. Don't think that I will not._

The Princess saw the silent threat in the inwardly enraged Vanyar, and with a huff she turned on her heel, stalking out of the arena. There was a heartbeat of silence before the Balrog Slayer spoke once more.

"What happened, Esgal?" When the assassin gave him a blank look, his heart-brother elaborated. "What were you thinking when you thought. What were you focusing on, and what were you unaware of?"

The violet-eyed elf was silent for a moment, trying to think of a way to explain. "...When the battle began, I lost track of my allies," he began slowly. "All I was aware of were my enemies, and those trying to attack me. I vaguely remembered that I had people at my side, but it was like I could not focus enough to tell where they were. My awareness was wide, yet at the same time, it was narrow. I knew where everyone was, but I was unable to truly... sense where my allies were, or if they needed assistance. All my thoughts were bent on removing the "threats" around me."

No one spoke as everyone processed this.

Then Elrohir broke the contemplative silence. "You say that you were aware of all enemies. What do you mean by that?"

"It is like a countdown," Legolas struggled to turn his instincts into words. "it is more obvious when my enemies die. When a fight begins, I sense how many enemies there are, and count down each time I kill one, to make sure I get them all. Once I reach zero, and no enemies are left, I... The only word I can think of is shift... Yes. I_ shift_ out of my fighting mentality instantly. It is an assassin technique, and the reason why I can go from peaceful to fighting, then return to calm and relaxed in a heartbeat."

Those who had encountered the assassin before or knew him well all thought of the times they had seen Esgal go from laughing and mellow to emotionless and deadly in a millisecond.

"Esgal." Elrond said suddenly, bringing all attention to him. "I think you are more aware of your allies than you think. You did not attack them, so you were consciously acknowledging that they are not a threat. Which means, deep in your mind, you are at least partially aware of where they were, so you would not harm them. You can sense people through their energy, correct?" At Legolas's nod, he continued. "How well?"

The assassin thought about it. "From a distance I can tell the race of a person, and how many they are. If I am closer or know them well, I can identify people based on their presence."

"What are you sensing, exactly?" Fael asked, looking between the violet-eyed elf and Elrohir. "You keep mentioning "energy" and "presences"."

The younger Rivendell twin shrugged but Legolas had an answer.

"There is a special energy that runs through all things in this world. It is known by many names: life-energy, chi, chakra, aura, and spiritual-energy are just a few of them. Basically, it is the energy of life. In some, this energy merely exists within them, its only purpose being to exist within them. In others— like elves and Wizards— this energy can be used to perform "magic". By magic, I mean anything from spells to words of healing. For example, when Lord Elrond heals, he takes some energy out of his own body and transfers it to the injured person, increasing their waning energy and healing them. A transfer of energy is also why..."

He hesitated then continued softly. "...why the Ring is so powerful, and also why Sauron needs it in order to regain power. When he created it, he used much of his own energy. Too much, in fact. That is why he cannot return or survive without the Ring. The energy flowing through people creates their presence and each presence is unique, which allows me to identify them with my sixth sense." Out of words, he stopped, waiting to see what the older elves were thinking.

"Is that how I can sense orcs?" Elrohir questioned instead. "I sense their Dark energy?"

"Yes." the assassin said simply.

Elrond and Erestor were quiet, seeming to communicate silently as they looked at each other. Moving eyebrows, small gestures, and minute nods were all that passed between the Lord and scholar, but Legolas could tell it was much more. Finally, the Peredhel Lord turned to the violet-eyed elf.

"From what you have said, I am guessing that your sensing abilities are very sharp, and you are able to identify others easily through their aura." he began. "Try doing this; Focus on each person's presence constantly in the battle, just enough to distinguish your "allies" from your "enemies". Theoretically, this will help you keep track of your friends in the melee, keep your focus from becoming to narrowed, and allow you to adapt your fighting style whenever you need to in order to protect them. This will also allow you to fight normally whenever they are not close by, without having to worry about striking or ignoring them. Do you understand?"

"I believe so." the assassin murmured. The Peredhel wanted him to use his sixth sense in fights? He supposed that it could work. Elrond was right, it would most likely keep him from sinking completely into his assassin-mindset and thinking he was absolutely alone... "I will try."

Everyone was staring at him expectantly. The assassin shifted uncomfortably under their gazes.

"Could you look at something other than me, please?" he asked.

He did not mean to sound rude, but having all of those eyes on him was unnerving. Deliberately, Aragorn began speaking softly to Arwen and the twins, and the other warriors all gathered into small group, murmuring to each other. The buzz of their voices was surprisingly calming rather than distracting. Elrond seemed to notice Legolas's more relaxed state.

"Focus your awareness, Esgal." the Elf Lord said quietly. "Feel each one of us around you."

Legolas did as he asked, breathing in and out slowly as he drew upon his sixth sense. He could sense each person around him, their presences bright and bold to his senses. The elven Lords and Ladies blazed, their family glowing only slightly dimmer. If the presences had colors, all of the elves would have hints of gold in their auras.

Galadriel and Celeborn would be a blazing gold and white, as would Glorfindel, though his would have a hint of aquatic bluish-green. Elrond, Elrohir, and Elladan would also be gold, but with small sparks of sapphire blue. Erestor's aura would be a lighter gold, with a lighter, gentler azure. The Lothlorien warriors would have auras of the same brilliant gold and white as their Lord and Lady, though less potent and bright. The Rivendell warriors would also have less gold, but more sky blue. Compared to their Lords and the kin of their leaders, their auras would be softer, less powerful.

The Royal Family of Mirkwood would be a shimmering gold, with earthy browns, shining silvers, and emerald greens mixed in. That was with the exception of Bereneth, who would have a streak of red to represent her anger. The Mirkwood warriors would also have green and brown mixed in, but with much less gold.

Aragorn's aura would have no gold, but would be glowing silver and shining blue with tiny hints of brown, bright among humans yet dull among the elves. He was a Dunedan, long-lived and Kingly, but was also mortal. Still, he was strong of will and great in spirit, so his aura would blaze powerfully for one of his race.

As Legolas contemplated this, turning the presences into colors in his mind, he slowly began to distinguish between each person's presence. As if he were seeing their faces, he could _recognize_ them, picking out each individual. The assassin exhaled and opened his eyes, the violet orbs glowing.

"I am ready to try again."

The warriors gathered once more in the clearing, ready to fight. Again, Elrond counted down, and the moment he shouted to start, the fighters were moving. Everyone's presences hummed at the back of Legolas's mind like a distant thought, the vague awareness of his allies just strong enough for him to tell where they were. It would be even easier to fight where his enemies were all orcs or other Dark creatures. Even evil Men had presences of Shadow and Darkness, their souls corrupted from their allegiance to the enemies of the Free People.

As the assassin dodged a strike from Thimben he was aware of Thranduil blocking a blow from Fael. As the young elf tapped Elrohir on the kidney, he knew that nearby Glorfindel and Thranduil were currently fighting back-to-back. He darted towards the two, blades jabbing and sweeping as he ran, hitting each one he passed quickly before they could react. He was so _fast_.

There was a lull in the battle as the assassin "killed" many of the blue team, each of them forced to stay out for three seconds before returning. They did all at once, rushing the red team. Legolas sidestepped Arwen's downward slash, pushing her blade aside to unbalance her and sweeping her legs out from under her. She hit the dirt and he tapped her between her shoulder blades, signifying a "kill".

A twist brought him out of Heled's path, his sweeping "blades" catching the Mirkwood warrior across the chest and shoulder. If the fight had been real and the blow at full strength, the elf would have been sliced open. Instead he just felt controlled pressure on his torso, another "death" on his part. He sensed Elladan sneaking up behind Haldir while Elrohir and Thimben distracted him.

A throwing knife— handle first— would have solved the problem but such an option was unavailable currently. Thinking fast, the elf picked up a loose piece of bark, throwing it at the older twin. Elladan yelped as the projectile smacked him in the back of the head, only hard enough to be noticed.

Haldir turned and jabbed at the older twin. That done, his eyes met the assassin's, and the violet-eyed elf mouthed, "Watch your back." The Marchwarden nodded in acknowledgment, then returned to his battle with the other two warriors, taking care of them quickly.

His ally out of danger, Legolas faced his next group of enemies. Moving and swaying, he was like water as he flowed around them, all of them unable to touch him as if he were smoke drifting through their fingers. With tiny shifts, little sways, lightning-fast strikes, and controlled blows, he was in his element.

He rapped both Heled and Rainor on the chests, spun and slashed, and tilted his head to avoid Fael's stab. The Prince came at him and Legolas shifted, grabbing him as he went by and throwing him— _Gently_— down on the ground. A touch of his "blade" to the silver-haired elf's throat told the Prince he was done for.

Legolas's ever-present awareness flickered, telling him of another enemy coming up behind him. The elf faced Aragorn, the man bearing down on him with his "sword" raised. At the back of the assassin's mind, a presence flared in warning.

Thranduil was behind him.

Legolas did not dodge, but blocked. Aragorn flinched slightly as their training weapons connected, startled that the assassin had not moved. He recovered instantly and kept fighting, slashing at the elf. A quick flick followed by a definitive prod to the chest made the man retreat.

Glorfindel saw the whole thing and grinned, calling a halt to the mock-fight. The two sides broke apart, many panting heavily from exertion.

"How many times did you get killed?" Rumil asked his brother wearily.

Orophin thought about it. "I think at least ten. You?"

The Lorien warrior grimaced. "Thirteen."

"If that had been a real battle, we all would have been dead in a couple minutes," Thimben said, slightly awed.

"From what I saw, that is the truth. I doubt there would be anyone left for the rest of the "red team". You are very skilled, Esgal." Thranduil said approvingly, smiling at the young elf.

Legolas hesitantly smiled back, heart lifting at the Elvenking's words. For some reason, he felt confusingly happy after receiving the complement.

Aragorn scoffed. "What you saw was nothing compared to what he can do in a real battle, with all of his weapons. He was holding back greatly in this fight, being careful not to harm anyone. He is quite capable of slaying us all with those training daggers."

"Esgal could kill us with a piece of string and a feather. This is nothing." Glorfindel said dismissively— and rather cheerfully.

The blonde-haired elf stared at the two, confused. Why were they telling the others this? He spotted something in their stance, expressions, and eyes, and his own eyebrows rose incredulously. Were Glorfindel and Aragorn _bragging_ about his skills? The elf did not know it, but the human and Vanyar felt obliged to do some boasting on his behalf. Glorfindel had the right to do so because he was Esgal's older brother, and the Ranger knew that the elf did not give himself enough credit. He was almost _too_ humble. And also did not seem to have a clue that many of his skills were shocking, rare, and special.

Wanting to hide from the approving, shocked, and calm stares he was receiving, Legolas quickly put his hood up, the shadow of the cowl hiding his face. Almost instantly Elladan gave a squawk. Pointing wildly at the assassin.

"You're Brian!"

Legolas stared blankly at him before memory struck. He had forgotten what had happened when he had given baby Aragorn to Glorfindel. The unofficial meeting with the twins had slipped from his mind."Yes, I was." he admitted, unsure of how the twin would react.

"You never told us!" Elladan exclaimed. Then he glared at the Balrog Slayer. "And you didn't either!"

"What are you talking about?" Aragorn asked.

Glorfindel strode over to Legolas, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Esgal is the one that brought you to Rivendell, Estel. It was before he wished to reveal himself, so he used his "Ranger" alias, "Brian", in order to give you to use without delay or questions." He rose an eyebrow at the twins. "I'm surprised that you only realized this now."

The twins turned pink. "Esgal never had his hood up around us before." Elrohir argued. "Brian was wearing a hood and face mask, and we thought he was a man. How were we supposed to make the connection?"

"That is one of the reasons I wear the hood." the assassin came to the brothers' defense. "So that people do not recognize me and think I am a man."

"You were the one that brought me here?" Aragorn asked softly. The man slowly approached the elf, halting in front of him and staring at him. For a moment, the Ranger could not think of what to say. What did one say to the savior that had rescued him from orcs when he was a babe and brought him to safety and a new family? Finally, the man decided simplicity would have to suffice. "Thank you."

_Thank you for saving me. Thank you for giving me to Elrond, to the family that I love so much. Thank you for saving me again many years later. Thank you for treating me like an adult even though you first encountered me when I was a child. Thank you._

Looking into silver eyes, seeing all of the emotion and gratitude within, Legolas understood. He smiled, gripped Aragorn's offered hand, and said. "You're welcome."

No more words needed to be said.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

Legolas was in a good mood as he sat in a tree in Elrond's garden. He leaned against the trunk, heart light and mind at ease, content to watch as the leaves rustled and swayed overhead. The leaves were bright and green, basking beneath the sun's light with a sense of calm and peacefulness that did not exist in the Shadowed trees of Mirkwood. The tree whispered softly in his ears, telling stories of many elves that had sought serenity in its limbs. Even the wise Elrond had come here to sit more than once. The violet-eyed elf did not take his eyes away from the green leaves and blue sky, humming in response to the tree, almost lulled into sleep by the calm around him.

The entrance of a sharp, Shadowed presence snapped him out of his near-slumber, and the elf tensed before sighing in irritation and worry, lowering his awareness of auras as far as he dared. His sensitivity to the Shadowed Elves in Rivendell had been making him twitchy and on-guard in the Hidden Valley for the duration of his stay, and it was becoming a little more than _annoying_.

After Amulug's exile, his followers had seemed to become less violent and angry. However, Legolas did not believe that their rage had magically vanished because their leader was gone. He could feel the parasitic, empty Darkness in their souls festering. It was still there. They had not healed. They were just pretending to be completely themselves again... or the Darkness was making them.

Much thought about Amulug and the Shadowed Elves had made Legolas wonder how much of the incident with Aragorn was the exiled warrior's fault. Was it Amulug own rage that had made the warrior attack the man, or had the Darkness influenced him into becoming violent? The assassin did not know, and was unsure about what he could do with his thoughts.

He had told Elrond and Thranduil— with Glorfindel present— about his ability to sense the Shadows in the elves last year in Mirkwood. The two Lords had thought about and discussed this a long time, trying to figure out what to do, when the Elvenking had asked if any of his warriors were Shadowed. Legolas had spent only a moment sensing the world around him before he answered with a surprising and alarming "No."

That begged the question: Why not? Why weren't any of the Mirkwood elves tainted by the Shadow? They had lost so much, and were exposed to the Darkness much more. How could they remain untainted, while elves from the Light realms of Rivendell and Lothlorien were affected? Could the inhabitants of Mirkwood somehow be resistant?

None of them knew, and Legolas had left the meeting with word that there was nothing he could do for now. That was a terrible, but honest truth. What could he, a mere Wood Elf, do if the Lady of the Light and Lord Elrond could not banish the Shadows from their elves?

So the assassin only observed and remained vigilant, telling Glorfindel of any changes in the Darkness inside the elves. He told the Balrog Slayer which elves were Shadowed, and which ones were beginning to become tainted. The two elves noticed a pattern among the ones starting to turn: all had just lost someone close to them, and were grieving.

It was a chilling discovery. Luckily, Glorfindel's discreet and careful concern and prodding seemed to pull the just-turning elves out of their fall, and most's auras returned to normal, casting away the Darkness before it could take hold. There was no helping the Shadowed Elves, however.

Legolas shifted in his tree, no longer comfortable, and sighed heavily. How was it that he, a mere assassin, ended up being the only one who could sense and watch the Shadowed Elves? It was relieving to be able to help and inform in little ways, but why was he the only one? Surely Galadriel, Elrond, Celebon, or any sensors among the elves would be able to do the same thing? Apparently not.

The assassin hated being so "special". It gave people even more reasons to pay attention and be in awe of him. He did not want attention and he did not want awe. He just wanted to laugh with Glorfindel, be with friends, kill orcs, enjoy nature, and generally be _free_, without a great burden lying on his shoulders.

That thought brought forth the memory of Galadriel's words and warnings. His thoughts now buzzing with a thousand new worries, Legolas gave up with trying to relax. He leapt down to the ground, landing noiselessly. Before he could walk away however, some laughing Valar decided to throw another source of concern at him, just to see how he would react.

"You!"

The violet-eyed elf closed his eyes, breathing out slowly even as his muscles tensed, ready for a fight. "My name is Esgal." he said calmly, turning to the shouter.

Bereneth glowered at him, one hand on her hip while the other still grasped the training sword from the mock-battle earlier. "What are you doing here?" she demanded.

"I was speaking to the tree." Legolas said honestly. She was half Wood Elf, surely she would understand.

The Princess scoffed. "Of course you were. Because that's what you do to pass the time when you're not humiliating warriors."

The assassin blinked in confusion. "Excuse me?"

"Don't act innocent," Bereneth snarled, gripping the training sword tightly. "You think you're so _special_. You can kill a hundred orcs by yourself! You can hide in plain sight! You can speak to shadowed trees! You save people!" Sarcasm dripped from her voice with every word, and Legolas was suddenly reminded of a venomous snake. And a warg. "You think that you know everything, but you're just a naive little fool... and a _freak_." She spat the word like it was poison, and despite himself the young elf flinched.

Noticing this, Bereneth sneered at him. "You don't understand anything about social classes, do you? My father, Elrond, the twins, my brother, Galadriel, Celeborn, even Estel. We are all royalty, Elf Lord, and Ladies, the highest class in our realms. We are the leaders, the powerful ones, the Lords... so why would we befriend or care about a homeless freak like you?"

Legolas opened his mouth to respond but the Princess cut him off, aloof and cold.

"Why else would nobles care about scum? We _pity_ you. Glorfindel truly cares, even I admit that, but the rest of us? Lord Elrond? My father? The Lady of the Light? Please! They don't care about you. They just want to make sure you don't help the enemy." She laughed, cruel and cold. "They may pretend to be nice for formalities' sake, but in reality they're only pitying, using, and trying to control you. You're just a weapon to them, and always will be. I have no _idea_ how you ever thought otherwise!"

The assassin was overwhelmed by the accusations and "truths" she threw at him, uncertainty taking hold. He had seen nobles in human settlements, and witnessed how they treated those lower than them. Peasants were like trash to some of the human Lords. Why would elven nobles be any different?

_It's not true,_ Legolas told himself. _They are my allies and friends. They aren't like those humans. _

But then again, Thranduil and Elrond had asked him not to tell anyone about the Shadowed elves, and told him to inform them if anything changed with the tainted ones. But that was a normal thing to ask, right? It was not like they were using him. But Galadriel had just told him to not let out his glow, and Elrohir and Elladan had wanted to use his skills for their own purposes when they first found out about them.

_It was only because they wanted to spread mischief, a benign reason. They didn't want to use me for anything serious._

The seeds of doubt had been sewn into his mind, and Bereneth smirked as she saw worry, doubt, and fear flash across the assassin's face. She spotted two elves entering the garden and her cold grin widened as she recognized them. Without warning she struck, swinging her training sword at Legolas with all of the strength she could muster.

The assassin reacted, jerking back, but his distraction and inner-conflict cost him. The wood slammed into his left wrist, and the young elf could not stop the gasp of pain that escaped him as a sharp _crack_ echoed through the garden. He leapt backwards, cradling his arm to his chest, and staring at Bereneth with large, hurt eyes. The Princess felt a tiny flicker of remorse before she shoved it away. The freak needed to be put in his place.

"Run along and tell one of the Lords or my father about this little incident," she bluffed, jeering. "See if they _care_."

Legolas hesitated, and his eyes fell on the two elves that were watching the encounter. Both had not moved or protested against the Princess's actions, and both had aloof, triumphant expressions on their faces. They were not shocked or horrified. They did not care that he had been injured.

Pain shot through the assassin's chest, so sharp he almost believed it was physical. He did not show how hurt he was, however, his face slipping into a blank mask. He turned on his heel and walked quickly towards the door, thoughts in turmoil. Not watching where he was going, he slammed into someone, both of them falling to the ground. He looked up and his violet eyes met green. Legolas froze.

Fael, not noticing the assassin's alarm, mock-growled. "Watch where you're going."

Normally, Legolas would have heard the teasing in his tone. But reeling from Bereneth's words, the assassin only heard harsh anger in the Prince's voice. The violet-eyed was off him so fast that the green-eyed elf was stunned.

The blonde-haired Wood elf did not look at the silver-haired Royal, bowing stiffly and speaking in a voice that was flat and cold. "I apologize, Prince."

Before Fael could react to the words, Legolas was gone. He left, too distracted to notice that the two elves that had witnessed Bereneth's attack were Shadowed Elves. Elves that the Princess had recognized from her father's list of their tainted kin.

In the hall, the young elf halted, tears of pain pricking at his eyes and his aching wrist clutched to his chest. Bereneth's mocking words and many other things and doubts whirled around his mind, until a single, pained thought formed.

_Could I really have been so stupid? _

Hurt, confused, and feeling more alone than ever, Legolas made his way to the healing ward, intent on finding bindings for his wrist. He would wrap his injury, then leave. There was no need to tell anyone that he was hurt, not even Glorfindel. The assassin had been taking care of his own injuries for years, and would continue to do so. There was nothing wrong with that.

Because, in the end, the only person he could truly rely on was himself.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

Back in the garden, Fael rounded on his sister. "What did you _do_?"

She stared at him coldly, something dark in her eyes. "I was just teaching him about social classes and how they should _respect_ their betters."

As the two other elves left, the Prince stared mutely at the golden-haired elleth, momentarily struck speechless. "You... _You..._"

for a moment, Bereneth was sure that her brother was going to throttle her. Then he deflated, expression crumbling like shattered glass. He fell to his knees, head in his hands, and the elleth was stunned to realize he was _crying_.

"What happened to you?" Fael choked, tears streaming down his cheeks. "What happened to the big sister I looked up to? How did you become so _cruel_?"

"I'm not being cruel. I'm merely putting him in his place." the Princess said simply.

"His _place_?" Fael asked, and his emerald-colored eyes darkened. "You never cared about social class before."

"That was a long time ago," Bereneth said dismissively. "I have long since realized that it is only proper that lines be drawn between royals and their subjects."

"Explain." the silver-haired elf said hollowly.

"It is because we are so approachable and friendly with those lower than us that Naneth died," the Princess said without preamble, making her brother flinch. She ignored him. "If the guards had been doing their jobs properly, then they would have seen the ambush before it came. Instead, Naneth probably told them to relax and enjoy the ride." Her tone was scathing and cold as she spoke of their deceased mother, an apathetic detachment in her voice.

Fael went absolutely still, something dangerous appearing in his eyes. "Are you blaming _Naneth_ for her death?" he asked in a quiet hiss.

"Yes." Bereneth said flatly. "Her and the warriors. If they had not been so lenient and comfortable, and if she had not encouraged it, they would not have died. Lords are meant to rule. Warriors are meant to obey and serve. They are not meant to be friends. Esgal is no more than a loner freak that is upsetting the balance of power even further. I was just informing him of the proper workings of society, something a wild savage like him can't seem to understand."

For the life of him, Fael could not understand his sister's logic. He had no intention of trying either. The tears had dried on his face, and his green eyes were colder than ice. "I see." he said in an emotionless voice. "I was wrong, Bereneth. You aren't cruel. You're an apathetic, sadistic, uncaring orc!"

The golden-haired elleth's temper flared but before she could speak, Fael was gone. She scoffed at him. He was probably going after that upstart assassin. Like he would find him. He had probably fled Rivendell by now.

Bereneth _hated_ Esgal.

She hated him because he ignored the right order of things, dining with Lords when he was no more than a peasant. She hated him because he could kill scores of orcs by himself and hunt them whenever he wished, while she could not and only encountered the monsters on patrols. She hated him because he had pale blonde hair, just like Legolas's, and that her family accepted him because of that— in her opinion, anyway. She hated him because that reminded her of her brother, and all that she had lost.

His presence awoke something inside her, and she rebelled and raged against it, seething, snarling, and angry. She could feel her soul trying to reach out to the assassin but she held it back, hating the Valar for making her suffer like this. And if she had to suffer, then she would make Esgal suffer as well.

How _dare_ he remind her of her brother, and upset her world.

The cold, arrogant Princess stalked out of the garden, not hearing the tree's mourning voice as it watched her go.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

Thranduil did not know why he was heading for the healing ward in Imladris. A few minutes ago, he had been conversing with Elrond when a pain— so sharp and agonizing he thought he had been stabbed— shot through his heart. He felt a distant ache in his heart, echoes of pain rippling through him. The Sindar had not hesitated and had rushed out of the room, confusion roiling within him. His senses were tingling, his nerves buzzing, and all he could do was follow his instincts towards his destination. Nothing special had occurred, nothing dramatic had happened, but deep in his heart the Elvenking knew something had changed. He knew something was very, very _wrong_.

The Sindar halted in front of the closed doors, staring at the wood-work in front of him. His heart pulled at him, begging him to go inside. It was an odd and slightly terrifying feeling, one he had not felt in years. It was an extension of his bonds with others, a connection between those he cared for and himself. It was like a low level of empathy or maybe even telepathy.

The last time he had been like this, he had found Megilag injured after fighting orcs, not long after his wife had died. The old instinct carried a single message, an urge to run and find the source of his dismay: _Help him. Hurry._ But who was injured this time? Who was hurting so?

Thranduil dithered a moment longer outside the door, pushing it open and fearing what he would find inside. His eyes scanned the room, landing on its single occupant. His bewilderment and alarm only became more pronounced. For standing at the end of the hall, back to him, was none other than Esgal. The Sindar pushed his questions as to why the young elf's pain would be known to him aside.

"Esgal?" he called.

The assassin flinched so violently one would think that the Elvenking had shouted at him. He spun, falling into a defensive stance, and only grew more tense when he spotted Thranduil. The assassin's gaze dropped and he bowed stiffly.

"My Lord." he said in a formal, neutral tone.

For some reason, the words made Thranduil's heart clench painfully. Pushing his emotional turmoil away, the Elvenking strode forward, halting in front of Esgal. "Are you all right?" he asked, concern evident in his tone.

"I am fine." The words were spoken in a rush, quick and defensive.

Thranduil felt a frown darken his face, but forced it to vanish when the expression only added to the assassin's nervousness. "I do not think you are. I—" _Felt your pain._ "—can see that something is bothering you." He glanced down, brow furrowing. "You're holding your left wrist."

Indeed the young elf was, clutching his forearm with his right hand, the limb held close to his body. Esgal let go the moment the Sindar mentioned it.

"No I wasn't. I am fine." he lied.

"I don't believe you," Thranduil informed him quietly. "Let me see."

He stepped forward and reached out. Instantly, the assassin shifted ever-so-slightly _away_ from him. The Elvenking paused, stunned by how much the rejection stung. He looked at the violet-eyed elf, really _looked_ at him, and was dismayed by what he saw. Esgal's violet eyes, normally so bright and confident, were dark and pained, a haunted and mistrustful gloom in their depths. There was also a heart-wrenching fear in his eyes as he looked at Thranduil, as if a Nazgûl stood before him instead of an elf.

No, not a Nazgûl, for the Sindar was certain that the assassin did not fear the Ringwraiths. Then what could _he_ have done, to make the young elf so wary of him? Thranduil could only think of two things that Esgal was terrified of: his friends dying, and rejection. The Elvenking did not call the violet-eyed elf out on this, knowing that doing so would only make him more nervous and withdrawn.

"You are injured, Esgal." the Sindar said patiently. "Let me help."

Again, the elf moved back the smallest bit as he reached for him. Again, Thranduil's heart wailed at the suspicion in those violet eyes. He let his hand drop back to his side.

"I am fine." the assassin repeated stoically.

Visible fear was vanishing, closed off behind a mask of indifference. But the wariness lingered in the elf's gaze, and tension remained in his posture. At the moment he was a cornered, wounded animal, and Thranduil knew that if he startled Esgal, the assassin would lash out or flee.

"Let me help you." he said again. "I know you may have been forced to take care of your own injuries before, but I am here now. Let me care for you." Blue eyes met violet and the Elvenking pleaded. "_Trust me_ enough to take care of you."

Esgal stood stock-still, wide eyes never leaving Thranduil's. "Why do you care?" he whispered, the words coming out like a cracking whip. "_Why_ do you want to help me?" There was a harsh suspicion and accusation in his tone, his voice almost a snarl.

The Sindar remained cautious and stared at him in confusion, trying to think of an answer to the odd, angry question. "I want to help because you need it. I want to because I can see your pain. I want to in order to show you that you don't need to rely only on yourself anymore. Because you are..." A person? An ally? A friend? All of those titles seemed too distant, and none seemed _right_. "...Because I care greatly about you. Do I really need a reason more than that?"

The assassin looked unconvinced. "You are a King," Esgal said flatly. "I am just an assassin. Why would you and those of your status befriend _me_?" Violet eyes pierced Thranduil, filled with hurt, worry, fear, anger, mistrust, and most of all, pain. "Do you just want to use me? Am I just a weapon to you? Is that why you "care", so I won't fight for anyone else?"

A dark suspicion wormed its way into Thranduil's mind but he ignored it. "Of course not." he said firmly. "How could you even _think_ that?"

Esgal shrugged, avoiding his gaze once more. His right hand reached over to touch his left wrist, and the Elvenking saw the small wince that resulted from the contact. The Sindar's concern increased. He really needed to have a look at whatever was hurting the assassin. But first, he needed the young elf to see that he truly was an ally and friend. He needed him to trust him.

"Do you want to know why I really care, Esgal?" he asked softly. "It's because... well, because you are _you_. Nothing more, nothing less. Surely you must understand that?"

The violet-eyed elf's expression told the King that he dare not try to.

"You are not just a weapon, and not just a killer." Thranduil stated. "You are so much more than that. You are a good warrior, true, but you are an even better _person_. I care for you because you are Fael's friend. I care for you because you are able to laugh and shine even in the darkest places. You are a Light that has overcome much loss and Darkness, and for some reason, just seeing you gives me hope."

The Elvenking looked away from the startled elf, embarrassed by what he was going to say but feeling like it needed to be said. "...I care for you and don't completely understand why, for there is a bond between us that urges me to just take you into my arms and keep you safe." He smiled, a sad, morose smile. "Perhaps it is because you remind me of my deceased son. He had pale blonde hair, loved the trees, and found wonder in much of the world, like you do..." A distant expression appeared on the Elvenking's face, sadness dimming his glow.

"I'm sorry." Esgal apologized.

"Don't be." Thranduil told him. "I do not mind that my sentimental, paternal heart has decided to be drawn to you. In fact I am more glad that you have come into our lives than you know. For some reason, you have brought about a change in my children. Fael is laughing and pranking again. Aglar is smiling more often and is less distant. Barhad has actually let his brother drag him outside more than once, under the pretense that he is studying the flora and fauna that you showed my eldest son. And Megilag has taken it upon himself to flirt with every ellith that approached you at the ball. He hasn't done that in years."

A short laugh escaped Esgal before he quieted once more, looking away. "Not all are happy about me being here."

"That may be true, but many are." Thranduil said. "I am guessing that it was Bereneth that did... whatever is making you hold your wrist."

Esgal did not respond. The Elvenking sighed, suddenly reminded of the times when his children were elflings, and had dealt with bullies. That had been long ago, but Thranduil had not been disillusioned by their silence either. He reached out once more, hands stretching out in the air between them.

"Please, let me see your injuries."

Esgal swallowed, took a deep breath, and carefully approached the Elvenking, still tense. He rolled up his left sleeve, wincing slightly, and it kept much of Thranduil's self-control not to gasp or curse in anger. A wide, purplish-black bruise, about a hand-width wide, was centered around the assassin's wrist. The area was swollen, almost twice its size, and the Sindar feared that the bone might be fractured. He gently held Esgal's forearm, inspecting the injury.

"Can you move your hand?" he asked.

"Mostly. It just hurts a little." the young elf said with gritted teeth.

Thranduil was no healer, and had no idea whether the bone was broken or not. The good news was that no fractured bone had broken through the skin, but the bad news...

"What were you struck with?"

Esgal shifted, stilling as the movement caused a flash of pain to go through his arm. "It was one of the wooden training swords."

The Elvenking breathed evenly, forcing himself not to explode. He had to keep calm. "I don't suppose this happened during the spar?"

The assassin did not respond.

Thranduil sighed, and looked up into violet eyes. "I am not a healer, but I have a feeling this is more than swelling and a bruise. You need to let Lord Elrond look at this."

There it was. The tiny flash of fear and _broken trust_. The Elvenking knew from Glorfindel how hard it was for Esgal to trust people, and now Bereneth seemed to have set Thranduil and the other elves' efforts back. Trust was hard to get, and shattered trust was even harder to mend.

Then Esgal set his jaw and nodded determinedly. The Sindar was momentarily stunned by the action, then a relieved smile crossed his face. Perhaps the assassin's trust was not as far gone as he feared. At least, the young elf seemed willing to try again.

Thranduil walked out for a moment and stopped the first elf he found, ordering them to find Elrond and Glorfindel. The assassin could use his brother right now. Once the elleth had rushed off, he returned to the assassin, who was sitting on one of the beds.

The Elvenking debated with himself, trying to decide if being blunt would only cause the injured elf to flee. After a moment's musing, he decided the risk was worth it. "Did my daughter strike you and say that we were only using you?"

Esgal stiffened but did not run off like the Sindar had feared. The golden-haired elf was quickly realizing that the assassin was not the type to run away for long. If he did run, it was because he was facing rejection or betrayal from friends. But he would soon gather himself and return, strong and calm once more. Even so, the elf was young, and had the insecurities of all young members of any race. He still needed much care and guidance, and somehow Thranduil found himself providing it.

"...Yes. It was her." the assassin admitted at last.

Thranduil exhaled— _Calm. Remain calm._— and said. "You know that Bereneth is... aggressive towards you. Why would you believe her words?"

The look the assassin gave him was answer enough. _Because she is voicing my greatest fears._ "Other than Glorfindel, I encountered no "noble" elves before last year." Esgal explained softly. "All I saw were human nobles... and most were not kind to those of lower classes, and rarely befriended them. I truly believed that elves were different— I did!— but I suppose the doubt lingered at the back of my mind. And when Bereneth was saying all of those things..." He closed his eyes, head down.

_Oh, Esgal_, Thranduil thought. _You are so confident, and yet you are not. You are so innocent, but also so haunted. You are wise beyond your years, but at the same time almost as confused and ignorant as a child. You have been a loner for so long, you know close to nothing about society, and I can see you do __**not**__ want to. Society has standards, society hurts, and society contains. I see why you wish to remain distanced from it._ _I hope that the friendships and bonds you have forged never imprison you in a city or realm... It would destroy you._

"Listen to me, Esgal." the Elvenking said seriously. "As much as it pains me, I must tell you _not_ to listen to Bereneth. Ignore her, avoid her, or disregard her words. She... she has been rather close-minded and cold for the past couple hundred years."

The Elvenking sighed and, for the thousandth time, tried to identify the time his daughter had begun to change. Things had been going well all those years ago. As well as things could for a grieving family, anyway. Bereneth had just forgiven Hannel for not coming to Legolas's funeral... but then, suddenly, abruptly, and shockingly, she _changed_. She grew cold, harsh, arrogant, and aloof, and no one could figure out why.

All Thranduil could deduce was that the realization that her mother was dead had finally caught up with her, and the Princess had somehow decided to blame social statuses for Luineth and Legolas's deaths. The Elvenking could not understand how his daughter had come to that conclusion, but at the same time he could understand a little bit. It was almost like how he hated outsiders for a while after he learned of his youngest son's demise. But at least he had grown past that, and emerged a better elf.

Bereneth was clinging to her rage, and taking it out on the assassin that could kill many orcs while she could not. If she or any Mirkwood warrior could, the Queen and Lost Prince would not have died. She took it out on the Wood Elf that could speak with shadowed trees while she could not. Esgal could do so much more to preserve the forest than she.

She was a Princess of Mirkwood, while Esgal was a homeless nobody. Why was it that he had the power to fight the Shadow so greatly... while she could not? As far as Thranduil could figure out, that anger and jealousy was what fueled his daughter's persistent antagonism. Speaking of which...

"Esgal," the Elvenking asked, afraid of looking at the elf. "...Is Bereneth Shadowed?"

Finally, the question that had been haunting him was out in the open. Finally, the answer he dreaded would be given, for either way the news was not good. If Bereneth was Shadowed, that meant that the elves of Mirkwood were not immune like all had assumed. But if she was not...

Legolas did not answer the Sindar for a moment. His heart felt heavy at the news he had to give. Surely the Elvenking already knew the answer? If Bereneth was Shadowed, did he honestly think that the assassin would believe a word she said? If she was Shadowed, did Thranduil believe that the violet-eyed elf would let the elleth get that close to him? If she was Shadowed, did the Sindar think that the pale blonde-haired elf would not tell him? But Thranduil wanted confirmation, voiced words that only Legolas could give. And so the elf responded with the relieving yet terrifying truth.

"No. She is not." Esgal said.

Relief and pain warred on the Elvenking's features. "...I see. So she has done all of this when her thoughts and heart are her own." Thranduil gave a bitter laugh. "How arrogant of we elves, to believe that we could not be taken by negative emotions. How foolish of us it was to think that we are above cruelty..." He rubbed a hand over his forehead, feeling more weighed-down than ever. "I will have to speak with her." _And punish her. Again._

He rose, intent on leaving, only to have a hand wrap around his wrist. He looked down to see Esgal still sitting there, head down, his thin right hand gripping the Elvenking.

"Don't confront her about this." he pleaded. "Please, do not side against your daughter again for my sake."

"She attacked you, Esgal." Thranduil said._ Do not snarl or snap, _he told himself._ I don't want to make him nervous again._ "Just like Amulug attacked Estel."

"Estel is the adoptive son of a Lord," the assassin argued, looking more and more alarmed. So much for keeping him calm. "I'm just an—"

"You are just as important as she is," Thranduil interrupted. "I cannot let this go unpun—"

"Don't exile her." the young elf whispered, but his voice stopped the Elvenking's as swiftly as a blow. Seeing the Sindar's blank expression, Esgal spoke rapidly. "Do not cast away a member of your family because of me. I'm fine with another punishment— any punishment. My word has to count for something, right?"

Thranduil's mind was still struggling to process what was being said. Why did the assassin think he was going to exile his daughter? _Because that was Amulug's punishment_, the golden-haired elf realized. _He thinks that Bereneth's would be the same. And it might have been if she weren't my daughter. But still... Oh, Esgal. She attacked you, and yet here you are, trying to convince me not to punish her harshly..._ "I won't exile her." he informed the violet-eyed elf, who relaxed visibly. "But she _will_ be punished."

"All right," Esgal agreed, though he still looked troubled.

Elrond and Glorfindel rushed into the room at that moment, both Lords' eyes falling on the young elf.

"What happened?" Glorfindel demanded, striding forward and inspecting his brother's wrist gently.

Thranduil noticed with a flash of jealousy that the assassin did not flinch away from the Vanyar. _Glorfindel has gained his brother's trust, completely. I wonder how long that took?_

Elrond also approached the elf, halting as the young one tensed.

"It's all right," Thranduil and Glorfindel said together, then looked at each other. More like they eyed each other suspiciously.

Esgal slowly offered his left arm to the healer, and Elrond gently studied and probed his wrist with knowing eyes and careful fingers. After a few moments of tense silence, the Elf Lord straightened, looking at the Balrog Slayer.

"Please get me a splint and some bindings. The limb is not completely broken, but there _is_ a sprain and a small hairline crack. It is not large enough for the bone to have been moved, but I think it is best to keep it wrapped up and stabilized for the next few days."

He opened his mouth, wishing to know what had happened, but a quick throat-clearing from Thranduil made him pause. The Peredhel rose his eyebrows at the Elvenking but kept his questions to himself. As the two Elf Lords began to wrap and splint Esgal's wrist, Thranduil began speaking to the young elf in order to distract him.

"How are you liking the gardens in the Hidden Valley, Esgal?"

The elf smiled even as he winced. "They are wonderful. The trees are all so _bright_ here."

"Yes they are." Thranduil responded. "Though they can become lonely too, because certain Noldor elves are incapable of taking the time to speak with trees. They're too busy breathing dust in their studies—"

Elrond paused in his work long enough to whack the Elvenking on the side of his head. The indignity was worth it however when Esgal laughed softly into his right hand.

"It is a good thing that we are here to keep the trees company then," the young elf offered with a small smile. He looked up, violet-eyes curious. "How long are you remaining here, My Lord?"

"Please, call me Thranduil," the Elvenking said. "I will be taking advantage of Elrond's hospitality for another few weeks."

Esgal nodded, then paused. "But who is running your kingdom then, My Lo— Thranduil?"

Elrond and Glorfindel finished binding the assassin's wrist, and crept out, the two not even noticing.

"Aglar is performing my duties for the duration of my absence," Thranduil explained, and a thoughtful expression appeared on his face. "I wonder how he is doing right now..."

LOTRLOTRLOTR

Aglar, Crown Prince of Mirkwood, abandoned all the dignity one of his status should uphold, laying his head down on his father's desk and groaning miserably. Next to him, Barhad quirked an eyebrow at his brother.

"Is something the matter?"

"How can there be so much paperwork?" the silver-haired elf moaned. "I swear that my hand hurts more than it did when I first wielded my sword."

"How terrible." Barhad said, unsympathetic. "Here's some more documents that need your signature." He dumped another pile of papers onto the desk, ignoring his brother's moan. "I don't see what your problem is." the golden-haired elf continued. "You've covered for Ada before."

"For only a week at the most. He's been away for a month!" the Crown Prince said exasperatedly.

Barhad looked down at his lap, hands clenching together tightly. "He can stay in Rivendell as long as he wants. He needs time away from the Shadow. So do Fael... and Bereneth."

Aglar internally flinched at the taut pain in the older twin's voice. Their sister had been steadily growing more distant from all of them for the past couple hundred years, even after she made up with Hannel. She grew angrier, colder, harsher, shutting them all out one by one until only Barhad remained as her shoulder to cry on. But even he had been rejected in the last five years, his twin pulling away and refusing to share her thoughts and feelings with him any longer.

The "spar" with Esgal had been the final blow, and Thranduil had become determined to figure out what was changing his daughter. His efforts had been fruitless, until a month ago he had decided that he, Fael, and Bereneth would be taking a trip to Rivendell. The well-known purpose of the visit was merely to visit old friends. The more secretive purpose was to get the Elvenking and the second Princess out of the Shadowed forest, in the hope that some time with Light trees in the Ring-protected realm would let her heal, or at least gather her thoughts.

Far away in Mirkwood, Aglar had no idea if Thranduil was gaining any leeway in his attempt to just figure out what Bereneth was thinking and the reasons for her actions. The worry was a heavy weight in the back of his mind, and at first he had been glad for all the Kingly duties to distract him. Now, however...

"Why should I care about this?" he demanded, gesturing at a document. "It is just a quarrel between neighbors over where the elleth is putting her family's laundry!"

Barhad peered over his shoulder. "That's normal. The people have disagreements like that all the time."

Aglar stared incredulously at him. "The Elvenking is busy fighting the Shadow, directing patrols, making trade agreements, keeping the Councilors happy, and many other things, yet people want him to decide who is right in an argument over _laundry_?"

"You sound happy to be doing paperwork," a familiar voice said in a cheerful and teasing tone.

Megilag entered the room, carrying a basket with a cloth covering its contents.

"I can see why Ada rarely has time to go outside anymore," the Crown Prince said dryly. "I never truly realized how much he must do."

"Maybe you will help him and me do all of this from now on then?" Barhad asked.

He received a unanimous "No" in response.

"I brought you something that might cheer you up." Megilag said, carefully placing his burden down on a cleared space on the desktop.

With a flourish he moved the cloth aside, revealing its contents. Inside the basket was an assortment of pastries. Both Barhad and Aglar perked up, both reaching for the desserts. The Crown Prince paused, staring at his brother suspiciously.

"_You_ didn't bake these did you?"

Megilag scowled at him. "No. Cook did. But my cooking isn't that bad!"

"The last time you cooked, the healers thought someone had tried to assassinate Ada." Barhad said flatly, a cake in one hand and a book in the other. If Aglar did not know any better, he would swear that his brother read when he slept.

"There was also that time you almost burned down the palace." Aglar added mock-thoughtfully. "Wait, I meant _times_."

"Name them." Megilag challenged.

The Crown Prince looked at his golden-haired brother. Barhad began listing off the incidents. "You were trying to cook soup and caught it on fire. You were making biscuits and caught those on fire. Then you tried to get them out and caught the _hot mitts_ on fire. Then you were trying to boil water, boiled all of the water out of the pan, burnt the pan, and caught _it_ on fire. Then there was the time you were trying to impress that elleth and instead _burned_ her eyebrows off... Are you seeing a pattern?"

"I think I do." Aglar said seriously. "We need to figure out a way to use your pyrotechnical powers for good, Megilag."

The second-oldest Prince glowered at his brothers. "I'm not going to stand here and be insulted. I'm almost late to my meeting with the most beautiful elleth in all of Arda..." A dreamy expression crossed the Prince's features.

"You're courting a maiden?" the silver-haired elf asked, surprised.

Megilag had not courted any ellith since Luineth and Legolas died. Aglar was shocked and pleased that his brother was showing a bit of his old hopeless-romantic self. The silver-gold haired Prince turned red.

"Yes. And I'm almost late. She's a really nice girl. Daughter of a warrior, as graceful as a gazelle..." Megilag sighed.

It was amazing how easily his old response came to Aglar's lips. "Is she the one this time, Megilag?" he asked teasingly. "Is she the one you're going to spend eternity with? Because you said that about the last one—"

"—and the one before that." Barhad added in his soft voice.

"—and the one before that." Aglar agreed.

Megilag huffed. "So this is what I get for being nice to you! Insults and jibes!"

He glared at them and turned on his heel, stalking out of the room and leaving his two brothers sniggering behind him. As soon as he was gone, Aglar stood up and stretched, reaching into the basket and plucking out one of the small sweet-cakes that Cook was famous for around the castle.

The Prince looked down at the small cake in his hand, and the corners of his mouth lifted upward. This dessert reminded him of Esgal, oddly enough, and what happened shortly after they started their second chance last year...

_Flashback:_

_Three days after the dwarf party came to Mirkwood, the group from Erebor had long-ago departed, and the party from Rivendell was just leaving. Aglar could hear Glorfindel speaking softly to Esgal, his companions moving around them as they loaded their belongings onto their horses._

"_Are you sure that you do not want to come with us?" the Balrog Slayer was saying, almost too quietly for the Crown Prince to hear._

_The assassin shook his head and gave his brother a shy smile. "No. I'm going to stay in Mirkwood. I won't be in the palace for much longer. Don't worry, Gwador."_

_Aglar felt the odd surge of jealousy once again, followed swiftly by unexplainable sadness at the thought that Esgal would not be remaining here. Then again, why would he want to stay in the stone palace halls? Why would he wish to remain in a place where half of the warriors did not trust or were cold towards him? _

_It was strange, but now that he had started over with the assassin, the Crown Prince felt very protective of him. The thought of anyone hurting Esgal made his blood boil and his fists clench with rage. He no longer felt suspicious of the violet-eyed elf, and could not understand how he had ever felt like he was an enemy or not to be trusted._

_The two had spent hours in each others' company and Aglar had quickly become accustomed to the young elf's habits and personality. When they went out into the forest, Esgal was able to name each and every plant tree, shrub, and animal around them. He had shown the Crown Prince a family of foxes— with three cubs— sheltered fearlessly beneath a shadowed tree, the roots protecting them from harm. _

_He had climbed up a still-Light tree, beckoning Aglar up with him, and showing him how the sun shone down on the forest, making even the distant shadowed trees seem bright. The sunlight had sparkled off the leaves up there, above the canopy, and when Esgal had whispered "Isn't it beautiful?" Aglar had to agree. _

_The assassin was closely tied with nature, and could see light and beauty in the darkest places. He was quiet and unwilling to add his opinion if he did not wish to talk, but gentle prodding would reveal a unique wisdom that was shocking to see in one so young. He looked at a person and seemed to see their soul, knowing if something was wrong and trying his best to fix it. He cared greatly, and did not like to see anyone hurt. _

_This trait became obvious when the elf had jumped off a tall tree— scaring Aglar half to death— in order to save a falling baby bird from hitting the ground from a height that would have killed it. Aglar had not even noticed the tiny sparrow, but Esgal had, and saved it. The bird had sat contentedly in the young elf's hands, allowing him to gently stroke its feathers, before Esgal had let it go, watching it fly off clumsily. There had been a sad expression on the assassin's face when he watched it flutter away._

"_Why didn't you keep it?" Aglar had questioned curiously. The violet-eyed elf seemed like the type who had brought home animals to ask if he could keep them as pets, then hid them in his room when his parent said no._

_Esgal had looked at him with sad, distant eyes and said. "All things deserve to be free. I would not contain it, for I would not wish to be contained."_

_All in all, Esgal's personality when he was not in combat and was not being threatened was the last thing Aglar would expect from an assassin._

_So the Crown Prince understood— a little bit— why Esgal would not remain in the palace for much longer. The stone was too constricting, society too demanding, and the elf needed to be free. That did not mean that Aglar did not wish that his friend would remain here with him. The thought of Esgal being out in the woods, alone, sent panic through him and fear racing up his spine, even though he knew the assassin was perfectly capable of taking care of himself._

_They all watched the Rivendell party ride away, disappearing quickly between the trees. Aglar walked up to Esgal, heart twisting at the saddened expression on his face._

"_You don't have to stay here if you do not want to." the Crown Prince informed him quietly._

_The assassin sighed, but then his back straightened. "I'll only be here a day more. Then I'll be gone."_

_Aglar looked at him. _You do not have to prove anything to anyone_, he thought but did not say. _I can tell you do not feel safe here... and I don't understand why that hurts me so much._ "Do you want to come with me to the kitchens?" he offered. "Cook should just be pulling something out of the oven."_

"_All right." Esgal agreed._

_Cook had indeed just finished baking something. Aglar grinned at the mouthwatering scent of fresh pastries and cakes entered his nose. He reached out and gently touched one of the small personal-sized cakes Cook had just taken out of the oven. Satisfied that he would not be burned, he picked up the cake and took a big bite out if it. Next to him, Esgal sniffed, a curious look on his face._

"_What is this?"_

_The Crown Prince almost choked, staring at the assassin with disbelief. "You've never had one before?"_

"_No..." Esgal said slowly._

_Aglar picked up another of the small desserts, giving it to the assassin. "Try it." he ordered._

_The violet-eyed elf took a small nibble, and looked startled, taking a more hefty bite. "It's good."_

"_Of course it is." the silver-haired elf said. "It's cake. It's usually a wonderful treat... unless Megilag is baking." He shivered._

_Cook reentered the room to find the two elves. A wary look crossed her face as she spotted Esgal, but she spoke politely to Aglar._

"_Is there anything else I can get for you, My Prince?"_

"_No," the Crown Prince replied. "We'll just enjoy these sweet-cakes."_

"_They're very good, ma'am." Esgal added in the soft, quiet voice he used around strangers._

_Cook looked at him and her eyes softened. If one truly looked as Esgal, seeing past the fact that he was an assassin and a deadly warrior, they could see how young he really was. His years as a loner made him nervous around newcomers— specifically elves— and he had the hesitant caution of any member of their race that was relatively new to the world. He did not yet know his place, and needed guidance to find a place where he belonged._

_Cook was an old elf, in mind but not body like many of her kind, and knew how to spot a youngster well enough. She could not help but feel maternal towards the hesitant, shy young elf she found sitting in her kitchen, carefully telling her that her cooking was good as if he was afraid she would shout at him for saying the wrong thing._

"_Eat as many as you like, dear." Cook said, piling some more of the sweet-cakes in front of him. He was too thin, she decided. Thin even for an elf. What did he eat out there in the forest? Was he really all alone out there? He really needed to eat more..._

Esgal had quickly gained a new friend in the palace, and despite having many sweet-cakes forced on him, the elf had taken a great liking to the treat. Still, it was a stark reminder of how much the elf had never been exposed to before, yet Aglar could not feel sad as he thought about this. Instead, he felt determined. Someone needed to show Esgal everything he had missed and was still missing, and the Crown Prince was determined to be the one to do it.

He did not know why he needed to become close to the assassin he had rejected at first, but for some reason he felt that it was up to him to right the wrongs done to Esgal by his family. Glorfindel may be the young elf's only big brother now, but somehow Aglar could envision himself coming to be that as well.

He was already halfway there. He felt protective of Esgal, even though he could take care of himself. He showed the young elf new things, and introduced him to things he had not encountered before. He worried about the elf when he was gone, was proud of him when he accomplished something, and felt joy within his heart whenever Esgal decided to show _him_ a wonderful discovery out in the forest.

The Crown Prince had no clue as to why he was affected about these things, but he honestly did not care. He felt lighter than he had in years. Because to Esgal, he was not the Crown Prince. To Esgal, he was not a revered warrior. To Esgal, he was just an elf, just like the assassin was just an elf to him. Acceptance that the silver-haired elf had not known he had craved had been given to him, and he loved it.

Smiling to himself and calmed by happy memories, Aglar bit into the cake.

**LOTRLOTRLOTR**

**A/N: Is it normal for an author to want to punch their own OC? (mutters angrily) Bereneth really knows how to get under Legolas's skin. Deep inside herself, and deep inside himself, they both subconsciously sense that the other is their sibling. This is what makes Legolas (unknowingly) believe and be affected more by his sister's words than he would be by anything else.**

**I just realized how much I love to write Legolas's fights when they are real battles. There is so much more he can do, with all of his weapons and the martial arts moves he can use. I actually had to keep reminding myself that "No, Legolas can't kick hard enough to break someone's leg, then stab them when they're down". Instead I had to make it a mere knock over and a jab. That was a hard fight to write. But still fun. :D It took a while to choose who would fight with Legolas. They would need to be warriors that could hold their own against enemies with larger numbers. Haldir, Thranduil, and Glorfindel seemed like the best choices, for skill and obvious plot reasons. :P**

**KINDA IMPORTANT!: I know I put some of this throughout the story, but here is Legolas's mom and siblings' hair and eye colors:**

**_Luineth_: silver-blue eyes, silver hair**

**_Aglar_: blue eyes, silver hair**

**_Hannel_:blue eyes, golden hair**

**_Megilag_: hazel eyes, silver-gold hair**

**_Barhad_ and _Bereneth_ (twins): brown eyes, gold hair**

**_Fael_: green eyes, silver hair**

***A reviewer pointed out a couple chapters ago that elves only have blue or silver eyes in canon. I'm disregarding that fact, so they can pretty much have any color eyes. I just feel like it gives them more diversity. Also, if I stuck with canon, I would end up giving all of the siblings blue eyes cause I just can't imagine a Mirkwood elf with silver eyes. Silver-blue, yes. Silver...? To me, that's a Lothlorien elf or Elrond-and-family-only color. (shrugs) :)**

**Thank you for all of the awesome reviews, and a special thank you to Imlosiel for giving me a whole bunch of helpful advice! :)**

** Responses to Guest reviews:**

**To "Guest"(1): Thank you!**

**To "Emilz": Thanks!**

**To "Anony-Mouse": Thank you! If the twins pranked Bereneth, Legolas would probably free her. **

**To "Lucy": Thank you! I think you were cut off...**

**To "archangelofloki": Thanks!**

**To "Naomi": Thank you! I don't think I'm going to do more pranks like that. Humor isn't really my thing. I'm glad you liked it though! Yes, Legolas will be "smashing" more orcs. :P**

**To "Badass Female": Thanks!**

**To "Kryst": Thanks!**

**To "Issy": Thanks! I hope I made the reactions and thoughts satisfactory...**

**To "Lizzy": Thank you for reviewing! I am okay with constructive criticism. It helps me make my writing better. :) Last chapter was an experiment. I tried out a bit of humor and don't think its for me. It was fun to try something new, but I'll stick with the stuff I know I'm good at from now on. As for the "modern" speech, I know. I struggle with tailoring my words to the time period, and sometimes modern words and phrases slip out. That's why I don't use "aye, nay, thou, hark, etc" because I just don't get it. As such, I don't even notice when I put in modern words half the time! I'm slowly working on it, and changing the most obvious ones I spot and some of the ones people mention that can't fit with the time period. **

**To "emi": Thank you! The Celeborn and Esgal official meeting was off-screen, sorry. He accepts Esgal because his wife does. The "He is awake." and "He is coming" are connected to the rising Darkness... Yes, Fael and Haldir are referring to the same "person". The orcs were all connected to the Witch-King so that they could tell him who the Hidden One was if they failed to kill him. How _odd_ it is that they weren't afraid of Hoshvuras this time... All they wanted was to kill him, like their Master ordered... ;)**

**To "Guest"(2): Thanks!**

**To "Guest"(3): Thanks for reviewing and for the info! Wow that's confusing... O_o?**

**Please review!**


	21. 20: What I Am

**A/N: Finally, an update! Want to know why it took so long? My stupid laptop _deleted half of the chapter!_ :( Yes, you read that right. I had most of it done, and it deleted/exchanged about 3,000 words of it after my computer crashed! It had a _pretty_ (note the sarcasm) cream screen and went dead! _And it wouldn't recover the chapter!_ :( Good news though: I finally got a new laptop on Monday. And I now save my files on a flash drive too. Yay! (does a happy dance) _Take that you piece of junk!_ With that being said, if parts of this chapter seemed rushed or forced, that's because it probably is. I felt like I made you wait long enough, so here's the chapter.**

**LOTRLOTRLOTR**

**Chapter Twenty: What I Am**

_TA 2981 (30 years ago...)_

Legolas sat on the edge of a cliff, breathing in the salty air of the sea. He could feel distant drops of spray tickling his face but did not move, not bothered by the cold droplets of water. After many years of absence, the elf was returning to Blue Harbor. It had been nearly fifty years since he last set foot within the trading village, and wished to look upon the town of Ciaran's birth once again.

After Drust's forced exile, Blue Harbor and its citizens had quickly recovered, ousting the corrupt man's thugs and returning the village to its former glory. The village had been prospering the last few times Legolas had gone there, and he found the town to be a good spot to just sit and relax alone with his thoughts, or observe travelers from around Middle-earth. There were no orcs, no Darkness, and no threats to speak of, the Shadow's reach not yet touching this distant edge of the world.

The assassin watched the waves clash against the cliff below him, the rhythmic roaring and thundering oddly calming to his ears. Although he had long ago heard of the "sea-longing" of the elves, he felt no pain in his heart or ache in his soul whenever he neared the ocean. He supposed it was because of his mental shields, and could not find even an ounce of his being that was not glad that he was unaffected by the sea's call.

The very thought of something trying to influence his thoughts and mind made an angry fire blaze in his chest. Nothing would contain him. Nothing would control him. He would be his own person, and choose his own path and fate. He was wild and free... much like the sea.

Below him, the sea writhed, unable to be tamed. It crashed against the cliff again and again, rolling back to gain strength before raging against the wall of stone once more. It sent shots of spray soaring into the air, tiny flecks of water spreading and drying up.

However, the ocean's depth and strength endured, moving and roaring as it would for many years to come. It crashed against the cliff he sat on, again and again and again, and while the earth was sturdy and unmovable, it chipped away slowly as the waves wore against it.

Yes, if Legolas were to compare himself one of these things of nature, he would say he was the sea. It was not in his personality to wait and endure like the earth. He fought and attacked, striking off little pieces of the Shadow that refused to fade. If he was startled, he would reel back and lash out with even greater strength, determined in his resolve to make a difference against the seemingly immovable enemy he faced.

Ironically, most of the rest of his kin would be the cliff, not the sea that they longed for. They endured, only attacking if they were attacked, riding out the storm and not taking a large part in the overall war against the Shadows. They defended their own borders but rarely went out to strike the enemy first. As stoic as stone, most of them were, but with every passing year their strength and hold waned...

At that moment, a large chunk of rock crumbled away from the cliff, landing in the sea with a large splash seen even amongst the waves. Legolas watched as the ripples the stone's plummet made vanished amongst the chaos of the ocean. The rock was gone as if it never existed made to disappear by the sea it had joined with. Just like how the elves would vanish from all thought and memory one day, as the world of Man took hold.

_It seems cruel, to make the elves depart once this land is finally free of the Great Darkness,_ the assassin mused. _It is not their fault that the Shadows that have sunk into the very pores of this world. Darkness so deep that once the time comes, all elves must leave Middle-earth, or risk fading into nothingness... All except me._

This was the disadvantage of coming to such a peaceful place. It gave him time to think. About the Darkness, about the shadowed trees, about the slowly-coming conflict, about the future... and about other topics he would rather avoid.

Even in Mirkwood he had no trouble keeping busy and not-thinking about things. There were always things to do, people to see, and enemies to fight. Legolas looked down at the roiling sea and laughed bitterly to himself. It seemed, no matter where he was, he could not find serenity for long. Here, he had time to think. In Rivendell, there were the Shadowed Elves to worry about. Lothlorien was too bright and high-class for his tastes. And Mirkwood... Mirkwood was not the same place it had been to him years ago.

He was glad that he had revealed himself to the shadowy forest's inhabitants, he really was, but there were downsides that lingered even after all this time. He loved roaming the woods with Aglar, pranking with Fael, reading and debating with Barhad, and teasing Megilag about his cooking. He loved whenever Thranduil would walk with him, talk with him, and oddly enough act like a parent to the violet-eyed elf at times. He loved to watch the warriors spar, and eat the sweet-cakes that Cook always made for him.

But all of these things were not enough to make him want to stay in the palace or even near it for long periods of time. For some reason, he found the place disturbing. The walls seemed to close in around him, the people seemed to stare and want to much, and no matter how hard Legolas tried he did not feel _safe_ there.

It was not because of Bereneth, although the Princess's behavior had remained cold, mocking, and angry towards him. Her punishment for harming him many years ago had been almost worse than exile to Bereneth. Her sentence had been extended indefinitely, and she was bound within the palace and the grounds. No patrolling, no fighting, she was not even allowed to spar anymore. To the proud warrior Princess, one might as well have taken her right arm and be done with it. Legolas felt slight sympathy for Bereneth, but all of his attempts at being friendly were met with anger and sneers. He found it better to avoid the Princess completely if he could.

But wariness of Bereneth was not what made Legolas unnerved and edgy in the palace. The reason was deeper, much deeper in his subconsciousness, and only with a thorough internal inspection did the elf realize what _bothered_ him so greatly that he was on edge in the Elvenking's home.

He felt like they would not let him leave.

The thought was ridiculous and completely unfounded, but for an unknown reason, Legolas felt like the elves of Mirkwood would _force_ him to stay there. That they would not let him step foot outside of the palace grounds if he was not careful. But why would he think that? Why would he believe that the elves would one day trap him in the palace, and would not let him go..?

Legolas stopped this train of thought before it could continue. The assassin sighed, serenity completely forgotten, and rose to his feet, turning his back on the sea. Musings and thoughts were useless now, and as such were not worth thinking or worrying about. All he needed to be concerned with was here and now. Not the future or the past, or anything else. He was just going to Blue Harbor, and there he would get away from it all.

Or so he hoped.

The violet-eyed elf wandered slowly through the forest, head tilted back and eyes closed. The trees rustled their golden, orange, and red leaves, the first signs of autumn crossing the land. The emerald greens of the forest were now the colors of a sunset, beautiful ambers, oranges, and reddish-pink leaves molding and ranging from leaf to leaf. It was as if the trees were determined to give one last beautiful thing to the world before they entered the deep slumber that took them during the cold winter months.

Although autumn saddened Legolas because the trees would be silent, he also loved the season, for its colors and the coolness of the fresh air. He breathed it in now, the scent he associated with the season and coming snow entering his nose. The leaves beneath his feet were crisp but did not crunch beneath his feet, and he ghosted through the transformed forest like a spirit born there himself.

Around him, the trees whispered softly, filled with joy that the only elf they had ever met had returned once again. Elves never came to this wood. To come here was to risk getting the sea longing. Any elves that approached the sea went further south, and their only intention was to leave. As first the trees had not known what to do with the not-glowing star-child that they had found in their midst, but eventually they spoke to and accepted him as readily as a tree would in a realm the elves commonly passed through.

Legolas only half listened as the trees murmured to him, greeting him, speaking of the sea, and whispering to each other about benign, calming things. He listened as they sang of nature, not as beautifully as the Golden trees in Lothlorien but still wonderful and sweet.

These trees, though not as Light as some he had met, brought peace to his heart, for they knew nothing of the Darkness— not yet— and were as innocent and free as trees could be. In a way, they were almost like the hobbits that made their home further south. Content, ignorant, and in a realm of absolute peace. The elf prayed that the peace would last here a while longer.

His own peace, however, was not destined to remain.

Like a feather brushing against his mind, he sensed six men approaching. They were not on horses but their pace was harried and fast, heading steadily towards him. Legolas did not even stop to think, leaping up into the trees and peering down through the branches, waiting for them to come.

Loud and abrasive, shattering the serenity of the forest, the men trampled into view, five gathered around the sixth and hurrying him along. The man was cloaked, gagged, and bound. A prisoner. The assassin only needed to touch the presences of the men to recognize the captive.

It was none other than Aragorn.

If the men were orcs, or they were closer to a land more touched by Shadow, Legolas would have killed them all and freed Aragorn immediately. As it was, the only close town was Blue Harbor. For all the assassin knew, the Ranger may have been arrested for a minor offense.

Still, the way that the men were rushing along and glaring at Aragorn worried the hidden assassin. All of the men were dressed in travel-worn clothes, but moved with a diligence and unity that spoke of training. Were they guards or soldiers of some type? Legolas would follow and observe to try to find out more about the situation.

Keeping up with the men's rushed pace, the elf followed silently in the treetops like a ghost flitting among the leaves. Below him, Aragorn did not struggle against his captors, letting himself be forced along. His hair was slightly disheveled and there was a bruise on his cheek, but other than that, the man was unharmed.

However, although the Ranger's expression was carefully neutral, Legolas could spot the confusion and alarm in his eyes. The man may have become better at hiding his emotions, but the assassin was much more skilled than he, and could see through his mask easily. How could he not, when he so commonly wore a facade of indifference himself?

The men did not shove Aragorn, but they did try to drag him along, not pausing even if he stumbled. There was anger in their postures and coldness in their eyes, and Legolas began to question his decision to stay out of it until he knew more. He decided that, this time, it would be better to wait than to attack preemptively.

However, the men's path soon veered away from the direction of Blue Harbor, going further inland. So the village was not their destination after all. Concern mounting, the silent observer stalked them, unnoticed and unseen even by his friend.

Soon, the presences of seventy other men entered his awareness, and he realized that they were headed towards a camp of some sort. The men could have merely been traveling through the land, and not wished to pay for a hotel in the trading village, but Legolas doubted it.

They came to a large camp set up just a few miles from Blue Harbor. Legolas stayed above the men he stalked, watching as men— all armed— walked about the camp, speaking to each other and preparing for... something. A quick sweep of observance revealed blades being sharpened, bandages being rolled, and maps being pored over. These men were expecting a battle. The only question was, with who?

The elf counted the men once more, calculating in his head, and his dread only increased. There were over seventy men here, and although Blue Harbor was well off, it only had twenty soldiers for protection. It was wealthy but small, and defending itself was not one of its strong suits. It normally would not have to fight against an enemy force of this size.

The assassin's attention returned to Aragorn and his captors as they entered the camp. The men around them paused as they passed, confused expressions appearing on many faces. Then, abruptly, their moods would change, turning into ones of disgust, rage, and anger as their eyes fell upon the Ranger. Most glared at the man, others turned away, but some spat at Aragorn's feet.

Legolas could think of two reasons as to why the men were acting this way. They either knew Aragorn and— for some reason— hated him personally, or they hated Rangers in general. Added to the fact that they were most likely planning to invade a peaceful town, the elf's timid belief that they may be honorable, good souls faded into nothing.

If it had not at that time, it would have vanished when one of the men stepped forward, striking the Ranger across the face. The elf's hands twitched but he refrained from grabbing his bow, forcing himself to watch with burning violet eyes as the man sneered down at his friend.

"Ranger scum." the man spat.

His arm rose again, and none of the men around them even twitched as he prepared to strike Aragorn once more. Above them, Legolas put an arrow to his bow, not drawing it back but ready to shoot nonetheless. He did not care that he was heavily outnumbered. If that Delorcion touched his friend again...

"Enough." a deep, cool voice said.

The throng of men that had gathered around Aragorn, his captors, and his abuser parted, a blue-cloaked figure walking through their midst. He was flanked by two more invaders, and Legolas could tell he was the leader. There was a confidence in his posture and a command in his voice that could only be found in rulers. He was used to being obeyed, or _else_.

But the thing that struck the assassin most was that he was dangerous. Something about the man— hidden under the surface like magma under a layer of stone— put him on edge. Underneath the calm leader was something nasty and vile, oddly dormant but waiting to break free. It was not like the Shadow he could sense in some, but was a different kind of evil. The natural evil of a corrupt, angry man. An evil brought out by one's own actions and thoughts, created by someone so overcome by hatred and rage they were lost...

In a world so greatly affected by the Darkness, it was easy to forget that normal evils and bad men existed. Not all cruelty came from the Shadow, and not all evil was borne of Darkness. Sometimes, the natural corruption of a person was enough to make them as bad as any orc. That was what the assassin sensed in this man.

Eyes not leaving the newcomer, Legolas shifted the path his arrow would take. The leader was the biggest threat. If he so much as moved threateningly towards Aragorn, he would be dead before he knew he had been shot.

Aragorn's captors forced the Ranger down to his knees, the leader looming over him. The cloaked man stared down at Aragorn, and the silver-eyed man glared up at the leader. Then the leader's hands lifted, and he pulled back his hood, revealing his face.

For a heart-pounding moment, Legolas swore it was Drust. The man standing there had the same black hair, brown eyes, facial shape, and features. Only a closer inspection proved it could not be Ciaran's brother— other than the fact that the man would be over four hundred years old by now. The man glaring down at Aragorn was taller than Drust, with slightly broader shoulders and a small dark mark on his cheek under his eye, most likely a scar.

"Who are you and what are you doing here, Ranger?" the man said coldly.

Aragorn was dignified and firm despite being forced to kneel in the mud. He stared right into the man's eyes, unimpressed and unafraid. "My name is Strider. I was merely traveling through this realm when your men arrested me."

The leader's lips curled and he looked down at the Ranger as if he were dung he had found on the bottom of his boot. "Rangers are not welcome in this realm."

"Who are you to decide who may travel through these lands?" Aragorn asked.

His voice was not confrontational, exactly, the man hiding any disbelief or scorn at the leader's arrogance behind a facade of careful neutrality. But anger still flared to life in the leader's eyes, and his features darkened dangerously.

"I have more of a right than anyone. I am Riagán, grandson of Drust. My grandfather the last Lord of Blue Harbor. After his father died, he was wrongfully usurped and exiled by a _Ranger_."

Legolas looked upon the newly-introduced Riagán with understanding, shock, pity, and disgust. _So you are related to Drust... You have your grandfather's image, and his desires it seems. I wonder, was it your mother or father that raised you to hate Rangers... and embedded the need to regain your "rightful place" in Blue Harbor. Based on your personality and these men that follow you..._

"Let me guess. You wish to claim your grandfather's old position." Aragorn said. His silver eyes moved over the men before returning to the leader. "And you plan on invading and conquering to do it."

"Of course." Riagán responded coolly. "I seek to regain my family's throne. You must understand my desire to have what is rightfully mine. After all, aren't one of you descended from the line of Kings, and meant to ascend the throne of Gondor?"

Aragorn stiffened but did not respond.

Riagán noted his silence with disdain, scoffing lightly. "That is what I thought. I know what you're thinking. That is different. If and when Isildur's Heir regains his throne, he won't use _violence_... Yes, this is different. I'm afraid that I have run out of patience, and the only way to reclaim what is mine is through force. Fear is the only way to have absolute control, and what better way to inspire fear than to invade, with a force that wipes out their foes..."

There it was. A hint of the dangerous menace lurking behind Riagán's guise of coldness momentarily shone. His eyes changed, a dark gleam appearing in their depths, and for a moment it was like a warg was staring out at the Ranger. Then it vanished once more like it never existed, but Legolas found himself feeling oddly disturbed. There was something very wrong with that man. Aragorn seemed to sense it as well and kept his silence.

Riagán took a deep breath, and the calmness snapped back into place. He glanced at the sun, then looked to the men that still guarded Aragorn. "I'm afraid we are out of time for now, Ranger. Take him to a tent and tie him up. Leave him there, guard him, and give him nothing. We will continue this conversation later."

Stunned by the abrupt dismissal, the Ranger did not resist as the men dragged him away. Instead of following, Legolas stayed where he was, narrowed eyes staying on Riagán. The man was a confusing enigma, explaining yet not explaining his purpose and desires, yet something about him bothered the elf deeply. It was not that he looked like his grandfather, not at all. It was deeper than that. There was something decidedly off about Drust's grandson. The assassin just could not put his finger on it...

Disregarding this worry, the elf turned his thoughts to trying to figure out how to rescue Aragorn and take care of the threat that the soon-to-be-invaders posed on Blue Harbor. A solution was quick to come to mind, as it was wont to do for Legolas.

The plan was simple. Silent and deadly. Quick and without a fuss. A touch of death, without fanfare or flair. That was the way an assassin killed, and once Legolas thought about it, it was how he had not killed in... quite a while.

Perhaps that was why he felt a single millisecond of uncertainty before he scoffed at himself and _squashed_ it, hardening his resolve. He supposed, with a shadow of the past haunting him, it would only make sense for him to return to his roots as well.

The assassin reached into his pocket, and pulled out a small, simple vial.

A vial which held death.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

Aragorn could not believe his luck. Or lack of it, to be more specific. He was tied to a post in one of the many tents in the invaders' tents. The ropes were wrapped firmly around his torso with his arms pinned to his sides, preventing him from moving. All of his weapons had been taken from him, and no matter what he tried he could not get free. The bonds were tight, not enough to cut off his circulation but still quite uncomfortable. In other words, he was stuck.

The Ranger leaned his head back against the wooden pole, sighing deeply. He had to think of a way out of here before Riagán decided to deal with him. He did not know why the man had halted his conversation with his captive, but whatever the man had gone to do would not last long. Aragorn knew that Riagán would not let him go, which left him who knew how long to get himself free. Three hours had already passed, and he was making no leeway.

_I should have known better than to look into this alone_, the Ranger silently berated himself. _Rumors usually tend to end up being more than that, and I should have known not to go looking for a large group of men by myself. I did not even tell anyone where I was going, and none will notice if I go missing. Rule One for investigating potentially dangerous situations: Tell someone that you are investigating said situation._

Aragorn closed his eyes, thinking up and discarding plans to escape the situation he had found himself in. It was not like an ally would magically appear to assist him—

"You have terrible luck, do you know that?" a soft voice asked.

If he were not tied to a pole. Aragorn would have jumped a foot in the air. His head jerked and he stared at the figure that stood in the doorway of the tent. Violet eyes seemed to gleam out of the darkness before Esgal stepped into his sight, hood up and face-mask covering his lower face.

Aragorn closed his eyes tightly, head hanging in defeat. "...Just get me out of here."

The assassin nodded and cut his bonds, the irritating ropes falling away like nothing. The Ranger stumbled to his feet, wincing slightly. He quickly stretched the kinks out of his muscles.

"Where's my—"

Esgal handed him his weapons.

"...Thank you."

He glanced at the tent flap suspiciously, wondering how much time they had before someone stumbled upon them. Then again, no one had entered the tent since the men had tied him up in here.

"What's your plan for getting out of here?" Aragorn asked the elf.

The assassin did not respond.

The man blinked and turned to his friend. "Esgal...?"

Esgal looked at him, and Aragorn froze. The elf's eyes— his normally bright violet eyes— were dark, more like a dark plum than the brilliant purple that the man was used to. His eyes were cold, and more detached than the Ranger had ever seen, the apathy in them sending a chill up Aragorn's spine.

The assassin did not speak, merely swept out of the tent. Aragorn, wary and uncertain, followed him... and halted in his tracks just outside. His eyes widened, his mouth fell open, and fear made his heart pound wildly in his chest. For a moment he could not think or breath, his mind refusing to believe what his eyes were seeing. It was so unexpected and shocking that for a moment he could not respond to the sight he beheld.

After nothing but mind-numbing shock, Aragorn managed to choke out a single word. "H-How...?"

Because around him, laying in the fallen leaves, mud, and dirt, every single man in the camp was dead. The Ranger was suddenly struck by how silent the camp was. Unnaturally, tensely silent. The silence that camp with a lack of life. Only the wind made a noise, whistling softly through the camp of the dead, the occasionally rustle of cloth being the only noise within it.

Aragorn had seen more bodies at once in his life, and those in much worse shape, but this sight chilled him like an icy winter night. The men showed no wounds, and many had their eyes closed as if they had merely fallen asleep, but the paleness of their skin and the stillness of their chests showed that they would never wake. More than seventy men, all alive and whole earlier, were now dead.

And Aragorn had had no idea.

Esgal observed his reaction with the same blank expression he had been wearing, not reacting to his friend's horror and shock. In a flat, cool voice he responded to the Ranger's question. "They had lunch two hours ago. It was easy enough to slip poison into their food."

"They're all dead?" Aragorn murmured distantly. "You killed them all."

"Yes." the assassin stated.

"But they... That's not..." The Ranger's eyes were wide, a youthful confusion entering his eyes that had not been seen in years.

Esgal remained distant and detached. "What is it?"

"You... You didn't give them a chance." Aragorn said at last.

The assassin regarded him with those icy calculating eyes. "I understand. I know what you are thinking. You think that I should have confronted them like a warrior. You think I should have done what you would have done. You, and any warriors, would have escaped. You would have knocked out or killed the guards, and stolen a horse. Then you would ride off, your enemies shooting at and chasing after you."

"Perhaps you would have escaped, perhaps not. If so, you would have sought out Blue Harbor, then warned them about the threat against them. They would rally behind you, and you would defend the town against the invaders. Maybe you would win. Maybe you would not. But the point is, a battle would take place, and your enemies would be given a "chance". That is the way that warriors defeat their foes."

Violet eyes pierced Aragorn, pinning him in place. "Assassins are different, and an assassin is what I am. We work alone and eliminate threats, sometimes before they can become ones. We are not leaders. We do not seek out other to aid us and do not wait for open battles to strike. We strike from the shadows, and we do not give "chances". We _kill_."

The cold mask that Esgal wore cracked, and the dark color of the elf's eyes seemed to change into a sadder, lighter hue. "You are horrified by this. You were raised to find glory in face-to-face battles. You forget that I am not like you. I am not only a warrior, but an assassin. If I see an opportunity to eliminate my enemies, I _take_ it."

Aragorn peeled his eyes away from the dead men around him, looking into the elf's solemn violet gaze. It was in that moment that he realized that the elf truly was saddened by the death around him, and with that came the knowledge that the coldness and apathy was a defense mechanism for the elf. He had to detach himself in order for him to carry out the terrible mission he had to complete. He was an assassin, and sometimes that meant doing things no normal warrior would have the strength or vitality to do.

"I understand." the Ranger said softly. "I apologize for judging you. I forget that you are an assassin at times."

Esgal's eyes softened further, becoming their normal bright violet, but the sadness lingered in his expression and gaze. "I _never_ forget that I am."

No more words needing to be said, the assassin walked away, and the warrior hurried after him.

LOTRLOTRLOTR

Riagán walked slowly back towards his men's camp, thoughts clear and calm after his stroll through the forest. It was always helpful to have a place to go clear his head, especially when his thoughts began to cloud with rage and vengeance. The man did not know why his mind played with him like this, forcing him to separate himself into two in order to remain the collected leader his men needed to see.

His anger was a terrible thing, and could become a blinding and unstoppable lust for blood if left unchecked. He hid it behind a mask of calm and power, the traits of a proper leader, but still the rage simmered at the back of his mind. Riagán did not know what caused it, but when the anger overcame him he wanted nothing more than to make people suffer.

At these times he did not care about being a leader. He did not care about regaining his family's honor. He wanted to show his power. He wanted to show that he was one to be feared. Deep down, that was what he wanted: _Fear_. Fear, control, and to strike down any who opposed him...

Riagán blinked and breathed slowly through his nose, out through his mouth. The facade of calm was back in place, though it had been strained close to breaking earlier. The mere sight of the Ranger making the man want to strike him down, to watch and laugh as his lifeblood spilled on the forest floor. After all, it had been a Ranger that had caused his grandfather's exile, and who had denied him of his birthright. In Blue Harbor, he would have fear and control, and maybe then the rage inside him that he did not understand would be sated.

The man stepped into the camp boundaries, and halted as abruptly as a bird flying into a window. His brown eyes roamed the area before him and his knees trembled, giving way. He fell to the dirt, pain shooting through his kneecaps, and looked around him with befuddled confusion.

His men were lying haphazardly around the camp, silent, unmoving, and most definitely _dead_.

"No..." Riagán whispered, staring blankly at the corpses around him. Then his expression twisted into one of pure rage, and he screamed in anger. "No no NO!"

He rose to his feet, tearing through the camp, pushing objects and bodies aside as he raced to the tent where the Ranger was being kept. He ripped the tent flap out of the way, revealing a space that was empty except for cut ropes. He picked up the ropes, gripping it in his hand, before shouting his fury and throwing it away in disgust.

The Ranger had escaped. The Ranger had killed his men. The Ranger had thwarted his plan before Blue Harbor even became aware of it!

The rage bubbled up, boiling and red, and for once Riagán did not try to hold it back. How dare that Ranger defeat him, after he had worked so hard to gather the forces he needed to regain his throne! He had been so close! The invasion had been tomorrow! But now years of work and planning were gone, having died with his men! His men. No one had the right to kill his men except him!

The Ranger— Strider's— face was burnt into Riagan's mind. Dark hair, silver eyes, and a proud chin were all recalled with perfect clarity, searing themselves into the man's very soul. His anger focused, screaming for blood, for fear, for _vengeance_.

"I'll kill him..." Riagán snarled, eyes dark with hate. "I'll _kill_ him..."

The Ranger may have thought he won, but the strength of his ancestors ran through Riagán's veins. His grandfather had failed to regain his power and honor. Drust failed to get his revenge against the Rangers that ruined his life. Riagán would not be a failure. He would hunt the one who shamed him until his last breath, and when his path crossed "Strider's" again, he would be sure to greet the silver-eyed man warmly... with a sword to the heart.

**LOTRLOTRLOTR**

**A/N: Two antagonists revealed. One to go. **

**Riagán will make more sense later. Next time you see him, he is going to be a LOT more dangerous... and ruthless... and slightly deranged... and bent on revenge... and he'll be killing people. A lot of people. (Is that a spoiler?) In future chapters he kinda scares me a little... O_O' By the way, he is a Dunedan. That means he has a while left to live. **

**A note you may want to take note of: I just realized how much of a difference seven years makes for some characters. As such, I will be increasing a couple people's ages a little when I hit "The Present". Pippin, Merry, Sam, Eowyn, and Eomer will be aged up a couple years. Let's just say that the AU caused them to be born a little earlier, shall we? I'm really annoyed cause I didn't think that seven years would make such a difference for some characters. Then I found a timeline and it showed when people were born... (scowls) I won't mention exact ages unless someone asks later on. This is just for my peace of mind. :) BTW: If you calculated you would see that "The Present" happens in Third Age 3011. Canon LotR was in Third Age 3018. **

**Thank you to everyone who reviewed! Sorry, but I'm not doing review responses for last chapter now. Quite frankly I don't have the patience right now to scroll through the pages to find the Guest reviews. In other words, I'm majorly irritated right now. :( I'll try to respond to Guests who reviewed for last chapter in the next chapter. Sorry that I didn't respond to you. All reviews are greatly appreciated, and I love you all. (hugs) :)**

**Next chapter is in TA 2991. The chapter after that is "the Present". And the chapter after _that_ marks the start of Part Two.**

**Please review!**


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